Tenacity
by Muskie
Summary: Finally Updated! It won't be easy. Everyone knows that. A look at the bumps and bruises that House and Cameron will have to experience before they get it right. Eventually HCam
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own none of this. Just borrowing.

**A/N:** I've tried to write at least four different stories in the past couple of months. This is the first one that's made it this far. I wanted to get it posted before something else freakish happens on the show that screws up what I've written. This is going to cover the course of at least a couple of years, but it starts with the big event that I am looking forward to in a very unhealthy way – the exit of Stacy. Please let me know what you think!

**OOOO**

A tall, rather disheveled man with a cane stood behind a ficus tree in the lobby of Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital. The visitors to the hospital who saw him there thought that perhaps he had gotten loose from the sixth floor where they kept the "special cases." They shook their heads in pity as they quickly turned away from the man who was peering through the branches. The other people, the ones who had had to deal with him all too frequently, shook their heads and chalked it up to an overdose of painkillers.

House wasn't exactly sure how he ended up here. Normally, the only time he hid was when Cuddy and the clinic came calling. He knew he looked ridiculous, but the alternative was being out in the open where he would not only see but be seen. He hadn't suddenly developed paranoid tendencies, he had developed a bad case of wimpy-ness. His sudden interest in low-light plants was a direct result of the appearance of his ex-girlfriend, who was not twenty feet away from him, her arms loaded with a box of office-type stuff.

He scoffed, earning another pitying look from an uninformed person. That wasn't true. It wasn't just the fact that it was Stacy – he could handle her just fine, thank you very much. The problem was that on her way out, she had run into one of his staff members coming in. He could also handle said staff member. Sometimes.

The real problem was that rather than nod politely and move on as they had been wont to do for the past several months, Stacy, box and all, had stopped Cameron and appeared to be trying to have an intense and seemingly one-sided chat with the younger woman.

Handling both of them at the same time was not something he had any desire to do.

Besides, it didn't take a differential diagnosis to figure out what – or who – the topic of conversation was, which as far as their tree-covered observer was concerned could not be a good thing. It was for those reasons that Greg House had decided that there were times when one faced one's probable demons and times when one hid behind decorative foliage.

"What the hell are you doing?" James Wilson was more than a little confused by the sight of House behind a tree.

"I've taken up botany. Lovely green leaves aren't they?" House didn't turn around to look at Wilson. Instead, he kept watching the interaction of the two women. Cameron was looking embarrassed and impatient. Stacy had the "convince the jury" look on her face.

"Are you sure you're not hiding from the two ladies over there, who are probably not discussing the evils of HMOs?"

"Of course not."

"Wimp."

This time House turned around and glared at Wilson. Then, like a little boy who can't back down from a dare, he limped around from the back of the plant and, with one final look at the other man, he started toward where the two women had been standing.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he was more than a little relieved to see that they had suddenly ended their conversation and that Stacy was headed out the door and Cameron was headed toward the elevators.

That certainly changed things. Cameron he could handle. Well, he could handle her better alone than with Stacy, anyway.

**OOOO**

Wilson and House had made it to the elevator just as it arrived to take Cameron up to work.

Cameron saw House's face as he hobbled into the car. She sighed. He had seen them, damn it. It was all over his face. Wilson's, too.

She nodded politely at both men, and then kept her mouth shut. She was not going to feed him anything. She had no idea how much he had seen, and she was not going to give him more information than he already had.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"What was what all about?"

"Oh, good answer. Try again." Why was it that when he wanted her to be quiet, she insisted on talking, and when he wanted her to talk, she acted like she was guarding state secrets? The look on her face wasn't just guarded, though, it was angry and a little guilty. It didn't take a genius to figure this one out.

"I assume you saw me talking to Stacy?"

Oh, this was even more annoying. Now she had turned on the indignant and haughty face. What fun.

"Yes, I saw you talking to Stacy, and I want to know what it was all about."

Cameron was never so happy to see an elevator door open in her life. She walked out, without speaking again, and headed directly to their department. She was stalling for time and for a good strategy. He really didn't want to know what Stacy had said, and she really didn't want to tell him.

Cameron glanced at Foreman and Chase, who were sitting at the table in front of the white board. They looked way too relaxed to be in the same room as her and House right now.

Allison had never warmed up to Stacy and had been excited to learn that the woman would finally be leaving. (How the hell long did it really take for Mark to go through physical therapy anyway? Weren't there other PTs in New Jersey?) Anyway, when Stacy stopped her to recite a top ten list of the reasons Cameron should stay away from House, Cameron had decided that she liked her even less. And now he wanted her to tell him what had been said. Yeah. Like that was going to happen.

"Tell me." His voice was becoming increasingly insistent.

Foreman and Chase looked up at the tone and realized that there was something going on that might be more interesting than medical journals and crosswords.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Stacy stops you in the middle of the lobby and keeps you there for however long but doesn't say anything."

"Stacy's still here?" Chase jumped in.

"She had to meet with Cuddy one last time," supplied Wilson, who shrugged when House shot him a questioning look.

Cameron tried for a flippant response. "Fine. She wanted to share her oatmeal raisin cookie recipe with me. She didn't want the boys here to be deprived." She waved her hand in the general direction of Foreman and Chase.

Wilson choked back a laugh, which earned him a yet another glare from House. "Sorry. I know that I for one would feel very deprived." He grinned.

"Stop egging her on," snapped House. "Tell me."

"It's really none of your business."

"It's about me. It's my business." He was impressed that she didn't try to deny that he had been the topic.

"Do you seriously want to go into this with everyone here?"

"Why not? Aren't we one big, happy family?"

This time it was Foreman and Chase's turn to chuckle, although more derisively than Wilson had.

"Leave her alone, House," Foreman threw in, "she doesn't have to tell you anything."

"You know what, I can handle this on my own," snapped Cameron. She felt a little regret immediately, but she really didn't want to be defended by anyone at the moment.

"Cam, he's just trying to…" Chase trailed off as Cameron jumped back in.

"I have my very own big brothers, thank you very much. I really don't need two more." She turned back to House. "I'm not going to tell you a damned thing because, frankly, it'll just put you in a worse mood than you've been in for the past few days. I'm sick of your pouting, and I'm not about to add fuel to it."

Secretly pleased with the shocked silence in the room, Cameron pushed away from the counter and continued bravely, "You're a smart guy. I'm sure you can figure out why Stacy would deign to speak to me and what she would say."

She dared a look at her boss and had to force herself not to flinch. Oh, he was mad. Well, in for a penny… "If you can't figure it out, I'll just have to claim attorney-client privilege." She gathered up the contents of a patient file from the table and shuffled them together. "I'll be taking care of labs if anyone needs me." With that, she exited the room with all that haughty dignity that House disliked so much.

The silence she left behind was intensely uncomfortable. House had been a beast for the past several days, just as Cameron had said. His mood had started when Stacy had informed him that she would be leaving today, and it wasn't as if he had tried really hard to cover up his feelings. Although, no one, not even Wilson, was brave enough to say it at the time, Cameron's little performance had probably not helped matters one bit.

Wilson looked at the Foreman and Chase, who were no longer enjoying the show. He sighed. He supposed it was time for him to jump in. "Let it go, Greg. I think we all have a pretty good idea about what Stacy said to Cameron. Is hearing it repeated really necessary?" House was staring at the door that Cameron had just exited through. He didn't respond to Wilson's question, but Wilson knew it didn't need an answer.

Chase, of course, was not as savvy when it came to dealing with his boss, which Wilson found ironic given the fact that he had worked for House longer than Cameron or Foreman. "I assume we all think she was warning Cameron away from you?"

Foreman groaned and Wilson rolled his eyes. Both braced themselves for a nasty retort, but were surprised when House simply walked out of the room.

"Well, that was brilliant," sniped Foreman.

"What? I just got tired of beating around the bush," Chase replied defensively. "It's not like we haven't seen him like this before."

"Excellent reasoning," muttered Wilson. He was a little concerned because House had turned toward the general direction of the labs. He told himself, though, that it was a big hospital. Turning right didn't mean that he was headed after Cameron. He wrestled briefly with himself, deciding whether to follow or not.

He stopped in the doorway for a second, shook his head, and headed to the left.

**OOOO**

Cameron had her head bent over a microscope trying to look at a slide. She had been like that for several minutes – actually much longer than necessary, but she couldn't concentrate. She knew as sure as she was sitting there, that he was not about to let her get away with walking out on him. Now she was more anxious than angry; however, she also knew that as soon as he made it down here, he would push her right back up to angry really quickly.

He was the most exhausting person she had ever encountered.

She stiffened a little when she heard the swoosh of the door opening and then the unmistakable gait of her boss.

He didn't say anything at first and Cameron didn't either. Stubbornness kept him leaning against the counter opposite Cameron, and it kept her eyes pasted to the lens of the scope.

After at least three minutes of that, Cameron gave up – or in – she didn't care which. She suddenly just wanted to get this over with.

"You haven't cornered me down here in a while." She turned around on her stool to face him.

"Haven't needed to," was his brief reply.

"Oh, and now I've been a bad girl again."

"I'm just really curious as to why you won't tell me what you and Stacy talked about."

"And I'm just really curious as to why you feel the need to know." He didn't say anything, so she continued. "She's not here any more. It's not likely that any of her loved ones are likely to need your expert advice again. You'll probably never see her again. Or, is that what's bothering you?" Allison didn't know where that came from, and judging by his reaction, he didn't either.

"That's none of your business."

"So why are you here?" She threw her hands up in the air. "I think Stacy made it my business when she lectured me on the evils of Greg House right in the middle of the lobby. You make it my business by not letting it go."

"So it was about my evils," he stated matter-of-factly.

She wrinkled her brow at him, her own confusion evident. "Of course your evils." Her eyes opened wide as it suddenly hit her. "What did you think, that she was trying to get me to take pity on you, to ask you out again or something?"

"Oh, God you did, didn't you?" She laughed, strained. "No wonder you were so worried. God forbid that should happen again, right?" Why was she feeling embarrassed and stupid? Tired. She was so tired. Of all of it.

He had no response. He just stared at her, his face inscrutable.

"Well, don't worry. She presented a long list of reasons why I should avoid any entanglements with you altogether." She wasn't in the mood to deal with labs anymore. Maybe there was some nice, boring paperwork to do somewhere. She stood up from the stool and started straightening the work area. "You will be happy to know that Stacy gave poor little pathetic me a very stern lecture about all the reasons why you would be, quote, very bad, for me."

He was a little surprised by the self-deprecating tone in her voice; he had come in pretty much prepared to bat away flying microscopes. "Not like you needed to hear that again," he stated cautiously.

"No." She turned back toward him, her arms full of files and a test-tube caddy. "I certainly didn't need to hear that again." She stared at him just long enough to make him want to squirm. "No," she repeated, "I don't need that at all."

A second later, House was left standing in the lab alone, the breeze from the swinging door brushing his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**A/N:** Never fear, I have not lost sight of the whole House and Cameron thing, but my goal is to build gradually. Please let me know what you think.

**OOOO**

Four days.

Four days of perfect coffee and sorted mail. Four days of disgustingly boring differentials. Politeness. Cold, professional politeness.

House glanced through the glass wall at Cameron sitting – politely – at her desk. She was going through email, deleting the messages that would annoy him the most and flagging the ones that she thought he should take a look at. Nothing different. Very efficient.

So boring.

In four days, she hadn't yelled or cried or blushed or stormed out of the room. She hadn't been sitting at his desk waiting for him so she could push a file that interested her in his face. She hadn't called him a bastard or a misanthrope or asked him if he was crazy.

She also hadn't handed him tea made just for him or given him that look that she did when he popped a Vicodin or two.

He had certainly tried to get a rise out of her. He had mocked her dead husband, asked her if she could score him any meth, and wondered aloud if she had planned to share the love she _obviously_ felt for Chase with the rest of the male staff. (Chase had been the only one to get pissed about that one.)

In a desperate attempt, on day three, he had called her "short." She had – politely – responded with, "And you're very tall Dr. House."

He hated this.

What amazed him was that, despite the fact that a pod person had clearly taken over the body of Allison Cameron, she was just as effective as a doctor as she had been four days ago. She managed to put forth her opinions about the patient of the day and hold her own without what he considered to be typical Cameron-ness. But, God, it was boring.

"She's freezing you out."

House turned to look at Wilson, who was eating an apple and grinning at the same time.

"You think? Brilliant, Watson."

"She's not doing it to anyone else. Yesterday, she and Chase got into it in the clinic about a kid he called 'homely.' Nurses said they thought Cameron was going to implode."

"Of course she's not doing it to anyone else. I'm the one she's trying to prove a point to. And what the hell's Chase doing calling kids homely? Aren't doctors supposed to be compassionate?" House looked at the tiny calendar on his desk again and began calculating in his head how pissed he could make her with the tried-and-true "great ass" comment.

"You know, I'm really surprised that you're so worried about this." Actually, happy was a better word for it. Maybe relieved. Wilson was really happy and relieved to see House obsessing about something besides Stacy's exit two months prior. He had seen House go through way too much scotch and Vicodin in that time.

Wilson wasn't the only one to feel that way. Cuddy had gotten wind of Cameron's emotional strike and had told Wilson that as long as it kept House occupied she was all for it. She had even offered to give Cameron a day off clinic for every day she could keep it up. House had been less than amused. Once again, Allison Cameron had Greg House by the … well, she had more control than she probably realized and many people were benefiting from it.

For the most part, aside from discussions like this one, House had been leaving Wilson alone, which made Wilson wonder what he could offer Cameron in thanks. Although he considered it part of the best friend thing, he really didn't have what it took to be House's sounding board right now. He had enough to deal with at home and really didn't need any Housian catastrophes.

"It's boring," stated House, oblivious to his friend's thoughts.

"What is?"

"One of the reasons I hired her was that whole pie-in-the-sky thing she has. I found it amusing to slap it down."

"I thought you hired her because she's hot."

"Yeah, that too, but that's not really amusing. That's," he paused, grasping for a word, "well, that's just what it is."

Wilson just shook his head. "I'm impressed that she's kept it going for this long, especially after what you did this morning."

House grinned. Cuddy's comment about giving Cameron days off from the clinic had inspired him. He'd sent her down to work his clinic hours because he knew that one of the retirement communities in the town was sending their male residents in for free prostate exams. That had been classic, or rather it would have been had she even flinched. But she hadn't. She had smiled nicely and then walked away, saying nothing but, "Sure." When she had returned – and he had been waiting for that – she had just taken a seat at her desk and started on the emails.

"This is your own fault, of course." Wilson threw his apple core in the trash.

"Thanks."

"Well, it is."

"I did nothing…"

Wilson jumped in, "You did nothing but tell her that her professionalism was laughable and that she'd be better off finding a job that catered to hormonal seventh graders."

"How is that different than anything I've ever said before? I have said the same thing several times in several different ways. What made that different?" House realized that he was beginning to whine. Something had to change.

"I don't know, but I think you should be glad that she took this route. She looked like she wanted kick you in the nads." Wilson heard the door open to House's office and turned to see who was coming in.

"At least that wouldn't have been boring." House looked up at the youngish man in the khakis and golf shirt who had just entered. He looked like a low-level file clerk. "Are you lost?"

"Not if one of you is Dr. James Wilson." He was cheerful in a public servant kind of way and held a long manila envelope in his hand.

"I'm Dr. Wilson. Can I help you?" Wilson stood up and held his hand out, assuming that this guy wanted his professional help.

"Nope." He placed the envelope in Wilson's proffered hand. "I'm acting on behalf of Mrs. Julie Wilson and her attorneys. Consider yourself served." With that, he nodded at House and turned to leave the room quickly.

Wilson stood looking at his name typed across the front of the envelope. He shifted his gaze toward House, who said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Well, I'm not bored anymore."

**OOOO**

Thirty-six.

That was how many prostate exams she had given that day. Thirty-six.

Bastard.

In the past four days, Allison Cameron felt like she had put more miles on her treadmill than she had in the three years she had owned the stupid thing. The idea had been that she would be dealing with House's crap in a "healthy" manner. That had been offset by the chocolate chip cookie dough she had consumed and by the lamp that she had broken when she had kicked her shoe off yesterday.

House owed her a lamp.

Admittedly, she was proud of herself for not caving at work, for waiting until she made it home to scream into a pillow. Comments about her husband, Chase, and illicit drugs had left her dreaming about what sort of damage she could inflict with that cane. Of course, his whole thing about her being short had been hysterical, and it had taken every ounce of control she had not to laugh in his face.

Professionalism, her ass.

Now, wait. There was a surprise. He hadn't hauled out his favorite insult about her great ass and her skill as a piece of art.

Go ahead, she thought, it probably looks better than it has in years with all the time I've spent on the treadmill, cookie dough not withstanding.

She looked at the list of emails in House's inbox on her computer screen. Delete. Delete. Delete. Flag that one. Delete. Delete.

How lucky could one guy get? Three doctors working for him who pretty much did whatever he asked – although not without some conflict – and one of those doctors to play secretary and fend off the annoying people who wanted his help.

Delete. Delete.

She knew her limitations, though, and thirty-six prostate exams had sent her right up to the edge. The last patient she had seen that day had pushed her over the line.

Cameron clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to keep her hands from shaking. She knew she would never get used to what people could do to each other, but she really didn't want to think about that so she focused on the old guys she had become "acquainted" with that day. Of the forty-two men who had been scheduled, six of them had insisted that a real doctor – i.e. one who wasn't a "pretty, young thing" and who didn't remind them of their granddaughters – do the honors. Of the other thirty-six, three of them had tried to get in line again.

Bastard.

She was done. She had proven to herself that she was capable of working coldly and calmly next to him. She gave herself a mental pat on the back for not blowing her top in front of him since he had called her professionalism into question. Until today, she had kept her emotions in check and had still been able to perform.

Allison was an emotional person, though. That's just how it was. She saw no reason for a doctor to be a robot when dealing with patients. Granted, she could use some experience in the more taxing areas like grief, but she really couldn't afford to replace all of her home accessories and cookie dough had raw eggs in it.

In all seriousness, she knew that what had happened after the men had left would be something that legally she would have to deal with a couple of more times, anyway. And House would find out about it. She wasn't sure how he would react to it and her role in the situation, but she knew that she would not be able to hold back her emotions no matter how he reacted.

So the game was over. She tapped her hand on a pile of papers House needed to sign and contemplated exactly how this was going to play out. He needed to know what had happened in the clinic today, and she was not going to be able to keep it under control completely. She looked into his office and saw that Wilson was still there; maybe he would be a buffer.

**OOOO**

"Why do you look so surprised?" House really didn't know what else to say. Each time Jimmy had been served with divorce papers, he had ended up on House's couch for a week while he looked for a new place to live. For those two weeks, House had tried to be away from home as much as possible. He was no good at coddling sulky people. That was one of the reasons he stayed as far away from his patients as he could. Sulky was bad enough. Sulky and sick were horrendous. He was a prime example.

Now he was sitting here at his desk watching his best friend begin a process that House knew from experience would last several months if the past two adventures in divorce had been any indication. And just like the times before, he had no idea how to handle this.

Wilson's voice was a little shaky when he responded. "Things have been bad. I mean, she hasn't been home in a while, but I thought she just wanted some time to think. That's what she told me anyway."

"Time to think? That was original. Things have been 'bad' as you say for a long time. I can't believe you fell for that one." House reached into his desk for his Gameboy. Time for a distraction.

"She's my wife, House. I'd like to think divorce wouldn't be an option until everything else failed." Wilson's ire was increasing, which, in some perverse way, made House more comfortable.

"Seems to me that everything else failed a long time ago, right around the time you met that little chicky in accounting."

"Oh my God." A new voice – a shocked and obviously displeased voice – had added itself to the mix. House and Wilson both looked up at door that connected the conference room to House's office. Cameron was standing there, disbelief painting her features.

"What? Did my comment about your wardrobe finally sink in?" House was thrilled to shift his focus back to Cameron. He wondered what had finally set her off. She had that pink tinge to her cheeks that indicated that he was in for it. He didn't know why, but that was quite all right at the moment.

"He's your best friend." She waved her hand toward Wilson. "He's the only person who doesn't contemplate killing you on a daily basis and you're treating him like crap."

"See, this is what I've missed." House turned a grin toward Wilson, but the oncologist did not seem to be too impressed by House's recovered amusement.

Oh, hell. House remembered this part. Wilson had moved into the pissed-off and indignant stage. He was getting better at this; the last time it had taken him at least two hours to get this far. Pretty soon it would be time for the get wasted stage. House knew how to handle that. He'd just have to stop at the ATM for some twenties for the bar.

Cameron didn't allow him to think about bar-hopping for too long. "You have got to be the most insensitive person I have ever met in my life!"

"No points for originality. We all know that about me. Can't you think of something new?"

"No, I can't because it's the same old thing every single time, isn't it? Maybe if you would try a different approach we could all think of something new."

"He's been through this before. He'll get over it. He always does." House turned in his chair toward Wilson. "In fact, I'm willing to bet that he'll have found the love of his life – again – by this time next year."

"Go to hell." The words came from Wilson, which was unusual. Not unheard of, but unusual. House was nearly stunned into silence. When he spoke again, it was with a certain tone that said he knew that he had crossed some kind of line.

"Jimmy, come on. This has been a bad thing for a really long time. You know that." He stopped when Wilson walked out without another word.

"That was a terrific comeback." Cameron started right back in. "You couldn't have just apologized and been a little supportive?"

"Not that I need to explain this to you, but I've been 'supportive' two other times in the exact same situation. I know what he's thinking and I know how to handle this."

"This isn't the same thing. This is his third divorce. Three failed marriages, how would that make you feel?" Cameron realized that talking sense to someone who had none was futile, but she couldn't stop herself.

"I have never given it a second thought because I have wisely avoided being married." He stopped himself there because he knew what she was thinking. She was thinking that he and Stacy might as well have been married and that their breakup was probably equivalent to a divorce, without the subpoenas and lawyers. Time to move on. "Besides, why are you so hell-bent on defending Wilson? Is his divorce what brought you back into the world of the hyper-emotional? Are you secretly glad that he's back on the market?"

Despite the snark that filled his voice, House felt a little clench in his stomach. He really didn't think he wanted to hear the answer to that.

"Boy, I wish I could say that was the truth." She saw his eyes flick down toward his desk for split second. "I'd love to hear your thoughts on that one. But, no, I just think he deserves a little more from you."

"I thought your type just saved puppies and kittens. Cuter, cuddlier."

"No, I've been accused of trying to save misanthropic bastards at least once. I thought I'd move on to men who are incapable of monogamy but keep trying anyway."

Okay, time to change the subject. "So it wasn't my treatment of Wilson that set you off. Are you saying you came in here ready to rant?"

Cameron walked over and laid the papers in front of House. "Bad day in the clinic."

House chuckled evilly. "Ah, yes. The prostate exams. Does that mean I win?"

"It wasn't the prostate exams, and I really don't care if you win." Cameron took a seat in the lounger and folded her arms in front of her chest.

She looked stubborn and cute, House thought. Then, to get that out of his head, he said, "Of course I win. I always win. And since you enjoyed the fun time with the old guys, I'll make that your special duty."

"I'm not doing this again, House."

"Doing what?"

"Defending myself like this. I am an emotional person. I admit that. You need to accept that. I know there are things I need to work on…"

"Like dying people. You are a doctor…"

"Yes, you've said that several times, and you're absolutely right. I need to find some sort of balance there." Her voice had taken on a calm quality, very mature and not at all begging or whining. It was a tone he had heard more and more from her recently.

"House," she continued, "I can't _not_ show some emotion. Just like you can't."

He started to speak, but she cut him off.

"And don't tell me you're not an emotional person. I get weepy, you yell, but we both are way too emotional for our own goods sometimes."

They sat staring at each other for several moments. One was squirming inside, feeling exposed and trying not to look away. The other was calmer but still startled by the personal intensity of the moment.

House heard his own voice, mocking and sardonic, "Well, as much as I enjoy our little chats, I have to go find Wilson before he tries to get Julie to come back to him."

Cameron raised an eyebrow in question.

"Yep. That's his pattern. Begging and pleading and generally making an ass of himself." He stood up and started toward the door. "I'll sign those papers tomorrow."

Just as he was exiting, Cameron stopped him. "Oh, House, I need to tell you what happened in the clinic."

"Right. After your close encounters with the prostates." He noticed that she was blushing full on. This should be good.

"Um… well, a woman brought her son in. Said he had bronchitis. He was six." Cameron took a deep breath and rushed through the next part. "When I put the stethoscope to his back to listen to his lungs, he gasped and winced. I pulled his shirt up and there were huge bruises all over it. Some of them were new, some were fading."

House sighed and looked down at the floor. "Why did the mother bring him in? She had to know that you'd see it."

"I think that was the point. She wanted someone else to do the reporting so that she didn't have to." She paused again. "The bruises were all over him, House. We did x-rays and found a couple of old fractures and signs of past concussions."

"Good reasons to get mad." House was stopping himself short of blaming himself for sending her down there. Coincidence. Someone would have had to deal with it.

"That's not all." This time Cameron looked down at the carpet. "The dad came in looking for them. It was pretty obvious that he was the abuser and why the mom was afraid to report the abuse. He barged into the exam area and reached for the kid. The mom tried to pull him off, but he just threw her aside."

House's mind was racing ahead of her story. "Where were you?" He gave her face a quick once over, looking for any signs of injury.

"I was standing by the boy. When the dad made it to us, he tried to grab the kid, and I," she took another breath, "I kneed him."

He let out the breath he had been holding and allowed her to see a tiny grin. "In the prostate?"

"That general area." She rushed on. "He said he would sue me and the hospital. Cuddy didn't think so, but I don't know…"

"What happened to him?"

"Jail, I guess. The police and children's services had already shown up. They took him away pretty quickly."

"Well, I don't think that he's going to be suing you, and, if he did, I don't think a judge would even hear the case." He studied her face again. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Physically anyway." Her blush intensified as he kept looking at her.

"Puppies, kittens, misanthropic bastards, unfaithful husbands, and six year-old boys." He shook his head and headed on out the door.

"You're nothing if not interesting, Allison Cameron."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Okay, here's the deal. I know it has been a very long time since I updated this. I have a really good reason, but it's not one that I want to burden all of you with. I haven't been writing or reading any fanfic since December at least. I tried to catch up on the reading, but I realized that five months of reading is more than my eyes will allow. So, this is my reentry into the wonderful, and hopefully relaxing world of fanfic.

The ususual disclaimers apply, of course. I would like to add that I'm not a lawyer, so the legal stuff is probably wrong. I should also say that even though I have the outline that I made for this story way back when, I can't really remember exactly how it was supposed to play out. This may go in a different direction than I thought. (Still H/Cam!)

Please let me know what you think. I only ask that you don't flame this; I might start twitching uncontrollably.

OOOOO

"I think we should throw her a party."

"I think she'd kick your ass."

"She couldn't reach that high. Besides, everyone deserves a party the first time they get suspended." Greg House was tossing his giant tennis ball up into the air over and over again, a sure sign that he was thinking, which didn't bode well for anyone at the moment.

"She could reach if you motivated her enough." Wilson was trying to figure out exactly what was going on in his friend's mind. Ever since Cuddy had told Cameron that she was suspended – without pay – for a week, House had been acting a little strangely. Wilson was used to House's temper, of course, but this was a little different. Lots of yelling at first, then calmness. Kind of like the eye of a hurricane, Wilson thought. He was just wondering how long they had until they had to run for shelter again.

"We should at least buy her a card." House kept throwing the ball up and up and up. "Do you think they make one for the occasion?"

"I got one from my aunt last week that said, 'Thinking about you during your divorce.'"

"Well, they probably make one then." Up, up, up.

Wilson wasn't sure what to say. He certainly wouldn't put it past House to find a card like that and to give it to Cameron, but he had a feeling this wasn't the end of the conversation.

Suddenly, the ball slammed down on the desktop, House's hand on top of it.

"Excessive force, my ass! Have you taken a good look at her recently? Since when could any force that she used possibly be excessive?"

Here we go, thought Wilson. This was more like it.

"That bastard outweighs her by at least a hundred pounds – hell, a fifth grader outweighs her by a hundred pounds. Doctors don't use excessive force. Not Cameron, anyway."

"It doesn't really matter how big someone is, when you get kneed in the nads…"

"I know that." House looked at Wilson with exasperation. "My point is that Cuddy shouldn't have caved. Cameron and the police said the guy walked out under his own steam, standing up straight. She couldn't have done that much damage."

"No, I'm sure she didn't, but he threatened to sue her and the hospital for God only knows how much money. And without the mother's cooperation it looks a lot like assault."

"Now you sound like Cuddy." House stood up. "What the hell use was that new lawyer she hired just in the nick of time?"

"He agreed with Cuddy."

"I know he did. It was a rhetorical question. Is he sleeping with her?"

"Which 'her'?" Wilson tried to joke, then he flinched when he saw the look House shot at him. Oops, he thought. Hadn't better go down that road.

"Do you know where she is?"

Wilson didn't pretend not to know whom he was talking about this time. "I think Foreman and Chase took her to lunch."

"Where?"

Wilson shrugged. "Just the cafeteria."

"Classy." House snorted.

House limped out the door, but Wilson stayed on the lounge chair where he had been for the past hour or so. He completely agreed with his friend. Cameron could no more use excessive force than House could use excessive kindness. However, he could also see Cuddy's point. Cameron had openly admitted in Cuddy's office in front of the man and his lawyer that she had kneed him. Her next comment, "And I'd do it again," had been pretty ballsy (pun completely intended) in Wilson's opinion. It had sealed her fate, though. The bastard had come looking for an apology and what he had gotten was a five-foot-two bundle of pissiness instead. As the administrator of a hospital that had little extra cash in the first place, Cuddy had had no choice but to suspend Cameron for a week since that was the only thing that would satisfy the man.

Granted, a week was pretty much a slap on the wrist in comparison to what could've happened, but House didn't see it that way, a fact that he shared loudly with Cuddy and the hospital's new legal counsel, Brad Sampson.

Wilson's brain chose a different path of contemplation. Sampson was a seemingly mild, but sharp young guy who had a definite desire to impress. He was not a stereotypical shark but he was also not about to let anyone – including a particular head of diagnostics – get the better of him.

Wilson had liked him from the start. House had not. "He's just like you," House had told Wilson after announcing that he thought the new guy was a joke.

"Thanks," Wilson had responded wryly. "I'm sure he adores you, too."

"If you would let me finish, Mr. Sensitivity?"

Wilson waved him on.

"He's just like you," House repeated, "except for a lack of a sense of humor."

Wilson shrugged. "Cuddy probably hired him because she knew you'd stay away from him."

"First of all, I get sued too much for her to assume that that could possibly be an option. Secondly, I'm not about to start playing for the other team just so I can hook up with yet another lawyer at this hospital."

"I don't think you're his flavor either."

House had not said anything to that, but Wilson knew exactly where his mind had gone. Sampson had shown a bumbling, puppy dog kind of infatuation with Cameron the moment she had walked in the door. Not too surprising, of course. She was the kind of female who inspired that kind of reaction in men; she also inspired feelings of latent jealousy in others – again, including a particular head of diagnostics.

Wilson chuckled as he stood from the lounge chair. If his life hadn't been so effed-up at the moment, he might take the time to amuse himself by teasing the hell out of House, as it was, though, he had an appointment with his divorce attorney, which promised to be a fun-filled ride. As he walked out the door, he wondered to himself where exactly House had been heading as he had stormed out moments before. He looked at his watch, shrugged, and decided it was best to let someone else deal with that today.

OOOO

The problem with being a nice person, according to Allison Cameron, was that once you were nice no one would expect you to be anything but. In her case, over the course of her thirty-ish years her niceness had morphed into doormat-ness due her overwhelming desire to please everyone and not get involved in conflicts. There were days when she felt that her accessory should not be a stylish necklace or great shoes, but a sign that said "please walk all over me." It was a bad habit.

As she slammed into her apartment after the fairly disastrous meeting with The Abusive Bastard, as she had taken to calling the man she had supposedly injured, she reflected on one of the reasons she liked Greg House. No, she thought "liked" sounded too sixth-grade. Admired? Respected? Anyway she liked, admired, respected, that he didn't give a flying rat's ass what anyone thought. He seemed to revel in confrontations. She could only wish that meetings like today's didn't send her into stupid spasms of nerves.

A walking, talking, stereotype. That's what she had been that morning. Butterflies in the stomach. Clammy palms. Headache. The whole nine yards. House, on the other hand, had walked into Cuddy's office in an old Aerosmith t-shirt demanding to know where his coffee was. He had plunked down next to her and had whispered, "stop clenching" before rudely demanding the coffee a second time.

Cameron buzzed through the rest of meeting quickly, jumping to the part where she had declared that she would crunch the guy's balls again if given half a chance. That was pretty much where everything had fallen apart as far as she could tell. Wilson had actually given her the same look he usually gave his best friend when he said something way out of line. Cuddy had sighed very loudly and probably would have pounded her head on her desk if there hadn't been a need to be professional. House had snorted coffee through his nose. Thank God it had been lukewarm by that time.

The Abusive Bastard's lawyer had jumped on the chance to point out the threat that Cameron posed. Brian Sampson, the only one in the room who hadn't reacted to Cameron's announcement, offered a deal. Cameron would be suspended for one week without pay and the incident would go in her permanent record.

This time, Cameron managed to stop her boss from commenting with a well-timed heel to his toe. She looked at Cuddy, who looked at Wilson, who looked at House, who snarled at everyone. Cuddy then sat up a little higher in her chair and said, "Under the condition that this never be brought up again." The Abusive, and now Smug, Bastard said, "fine." And that was the end of it.

Cameron knew she should feel lucky. Her career could've been ruined, or at least her time at PPTH could've been cut short very quickly, but she had three problems with what had happened.

One was that the Abusive Bastard even had the nerve to threaten suit. He had abused his kid, for God's sake. Probably abused his wife, too. Cameron could never understand why his wife hadn't followed through with the charges that had been brought against her husband. Well, she understood, but she didn't get it. On top of that, Cameron knew that he and his lawyer would have agreed to any punishment for Cameron. All they wanted was to throw some power around. The man was sick and needed to be lock away. That was out of her hands, now, though.

The second problem Cameron had with this whole thing was that she had been _suspended_. That pissed her off. She had been trying to keep a little boy from his abusive father. Apparently, that didn't count for much in the world. Were doctors supposed to help people? Or were they supposed to sit back and watch as their rat-bastard parents beat the hell out of them?

That brought Cameron to her third problem with all this. The whole time she had been sitting there listening to these people talk about her, she had said next to nothing. She hadn't tried to defend herself really even though, as usual, she had had a running commentary in her brain composed of indignant and intelligent thoughts, sprinkled liberally with well-placed and well-chosen cuss words.

Had she shared everything that had been teeming in her brain, no doubt she would be currently updating her resumé. If she had only said a couple of them, she would not be browbeating herself at the moment. As it was, though, she had only shared the one thought, which really hadn't been very intelligent only a little indignant. She hadn't even let off one of the cuss words. A good, old-fashioned, "This is bullshit!" would've been better than nothing.

House would have done better than that. House _had_ done better than that. Before her well-placed heel met his little toe, he had managed to sling off a couple of good ones. He had echoed her thoughts on corruption in the law profession, greed, and the screwed up system that didn't protect children and spouses like it should. Cameron could only look back now and offer up a hardy "yeah, what he said."

What Allison sincerely wished, as she dug around for the Snicker's ice cream bars in her freezer, was that she could for just one day be as open with her comments as Greg House. To walk into a room and be seen as someone intimidating, someone to be wary of.

She headed back to the couch with the ice cream she had found. She supposed if her life were a sitcom, she would fall asleep now and those wavy lines would appear in front of her as she was whisked off to an alternate universe where that could really happen. In sitcom land, though, she would learn a valuable lesson of some sort and would have all her problems fixed in thirty minutes.

"Too bad," she mumbled to herself. She licked some caramel off her fingers and picked a piece of chocolate from her shirt. She sighed and looked around her little apartment. What to do with a whole week of no work? No shopping obviously. No paycheck for a week put a serious crimp in her budget. Read a book? Repot the plants? Vegetate in front of the television? Go home to see her folks? Eek.

It couldn't be that bad. She reached for the remote. Just as she thought she might be interested in the screwed-up person on Oprah, there was a loud and rude knock at her front door.

Oh, hell. Not what she needed. She sat for a second hoping it would go away. Nope. Now it was yelling at her. "Cameron?" She hung her head down and allowed the doormat in her to lead her to the door.

OOOO

This was possibly the worst idea that House had had in a very long time. One minute he was listening to a teenaged girl explain to him why she needed birth control – she had heard it cleared up acne – and the next he was walking out on her and headed to his bike. Now he found himself banging on Cameron's door. This had never gone well in the past. Whenever one of them showed up at the other's door, life only became more difficult. He was a masochist. That could be the only explanation for it.

Cameron was having the exact same thoughts, but she swung the door open and leaned against the frame. "What?"

"You know you could've used some of that attitude today." House didn't try to get past her. He didn't want to be there in the first place. If she didn't invite him in that would be fine.

"Yes, I know. I'm a doormat. Don't forget to wipe your feet." She didn't lose the defensive posture.

"That's what I don't get. With me, you're as bitchy as the next female. You'll rip me a new one right in front of Cuddy or Wilson. You can decimate Chase and even Foreman when you put your mind to it." He wasn't quite yelling, but he wasn't quiet, either. "Put you in a room with a couple of lawyers and an abusive father and you clam up. What's the deal?"

She just looked at him. And looked at him. Finally, she said, "You know what? I'm not in the mood for Let's Analyze Cameron today." She cut off his response. "Let's look at it like this. I got suspended for assaulting a man who beats on his six year-old son and his wife. I have just this moment decided that is a good thing."

"Very Merry Sunshine of you."

"I have also just decided that I am going to use this time to go to see my family." God, where did that come from?

"Running away again?"

"No. Actually this solves a problem. My mom has been bugging the crap out of me since I didn't go home for Christmas. This will get her off my ass."

"So you're going to try to see the bright side of all this," he sneered.

She didn't respond.

"Fine." He turned to walk away. "I'll see you when you get back."

"Terrific."

Allison eased back into the apartment and shut the door. Hell. What had she just gotten herself into? Wisconsin. Ugh.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing having to do with House, except the questionable idea for this story.

**A/N:** It's been a long time since I last updated. Life threw me one gigantic curveball several months ago and I have spent most of my time and energy since then dealing with it. I think about this story everyday, though, and have even woken up at four in the morning to jot down ideas. I now have the outline fixed and the other chapters are simmering. Since it's summer break (a perk of teaching) and I have no papers to grade (thank God), I might actually be able to finish this before school starts again.

BTW,perfectcrime,keep your eyes open for the Cheeseheads! (If you don't know what that means, watch a Packers game some Sunday this fall.)

I had a little trouble downloading this sorry if something got screwed up.

Please give me feedback. I really appreciate it. Thanks! L

**OOOO**

House's staff were gathered in the conference room without a whole heck of a lot to occupy their time. Much to Allison Cameron's dismay, the time had turned into the "Let's Talk about Allison Show." More specifically, let's talk about Allison and her boyfriend.

"You're going to a movie?" Chase's voice was disbelieving.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. Not a thing if you like going to the movies every single Friday night for the past month." Chase ended the comment with a snicker and a pat on Cameron's back as he circled the conference table.

"Now wait a minute," chimed in Foreman. Allison knew that she wouldn't be getting help no matter how scolding Foreman's voice sounded. She'd been hearing about this same subject – well, different variations of the same subject – for a while now. She took a breath and waited for the punch line.

"Movies aren't cheap. Man must be a big spender. What's he gettin' in return?" Foreman grinned over his newspaper at Cameron who was staring daggers at him but blushing at the same time.

"I don't recalled asking either of you to keep track of my relationship with Brad," Cameron muttered with as much dignity as she could.

Another voice chimed in, "That was an incredibly lame come-back." A cane poked her shoulder blade. "As the reigning king of slams, I think I'm going to have to give Foreman the blue ribbon this time." House bowed his head slightly at Foreman and sneered at Chase.

"What did I do?" asked the blond doctor with a slight whine.

"Nothing. Just getting a head start on the day." House sat at the head of the conference table in the seat that was closest to the white board. "Now, back to the matter at hand."

"Which is?" prompted Foreman.

House exaggerated a look of complete disbelief. "How can you ask?" He tsked and then looked directly at Cameron. "Just what _is_ our little Miss Cameron putting out when our venerable hospital's counsel puts out the cash for Milk Duds and a large slushie?"

"What? No popcorn?" Wilson walked in and added his two cents to the mix. He seemed to enjoy messing with Cameron just as much as the other three.

House looked at Cameron intently. "No. Too much chance of getting stuff caught between her teeth. That comes later when…"

He was cut off in mid-dirty joke by Cameron. "That's enough. You're all a bunch of annoying little boys. Maybe if you'd find yourselves social lives you wouldn't be so interested in mine."

House nodded, pseudo-seriously. "You're right. Wilson, for instance, could speed up this divorce thing and marry someone else he can cheat on. I know that would certainly distract me from your intensely boring Friday night dates."

"Hey. _She_ cheated on _me_. Remember?"

"Yeah. And you were a boy scout the whole time. Sure." House turned toward Foreman. "You have been in a long-term deal for a while now, which is boring in a whole different way." He pointed his cane toward Chase. "And the only time you get any is when your co-workers are trashed off their asses and don't know any better."

Chase started to protest, but House waved him off. "Which brings us back to you, Dr. Cameron. What exactly are you doing at end of the evening that makes Attorney Sampson satisfied with a movie at the beginning?"

"Well, we're not talking about you," Cameron started.

House interrupted. "Another sad comeback. Can't you do any better?"

Cameron continued as she pretended to ignore him. "You know, though, maybe we should talk about you a little. Maybe we should discuss an appropriate way to thank you for being the reason we got together in the first place." Cameron grinned at him. "Yep. I think that is exactly what we should do tonight. In fact, I think we'll drink a toast to you, after the movie of course. A toast to the man who made my normal, pleasant, _sane_ relationship with a normal, pleasant, sane man possible." She picked up her coffee cup and saluted her boss. "To Greg House, Cupid in disguise."

She smiled charmingly at her boss as the other three men silently declared Cameron the winner.

**OOOO**

_A month or so earlier…_

Cameron loved her parents. She really did. She loved her brothers, too. And their wives. And their children. One boy, one girl each. Wisconsin was a great place. Pretty. Bucolic. Lots of cows. Growing up on a farm had been great. Lots of freedom.

Of course, there was the fact that her mother still hadn't forgiven her for running off and getting married to a dying guy while she was still in college. Allison had never been sure if it had been the time in her life she had chosen to get married or the fact that he had been dead six months later that really torqued her mother off. Either way, "elope" was a word that no one dared mention in the general vicinity of her mother's hearing.

Her father still wasn't quite sure why Allison had chosen to be a human doctor instead of an animal doctor. Every time she saw or talked to him, he seemed to have just paid a vet bill for the breech birth of a calf, no matter what time of year it was. One time she asked him if he thought she would have delivered the calf for free – only half joking. He had not been amused.

If her parents didn't manage to drive her over the edge, her brothers and their families did. They had done the right thing. They had stayed in Wisconsin, married, and made babies. They talked about work, complained about money, and wore giant foam pieces of cheese on their heads in the fall. They were decent people, but they just flat out ignored Allison's career choice and, well, her life in general. As far as they were concerned, she was still playing doctor with her dolls and stuffed animals. And she knew they figured she get over the doctor thing eventually.

It wasn't as if Allison didn't know that she wasn't an unusual person. Everybody had issues with their families and still managed to love them. She just couldn't do it in the same time zone.

That was why she was sitting on her suitcase in front of the Newark, New Jersey airport waiting for either Foreman or Chase to pick her up. They were late, but she wasn't angry because she wasn't in Wisconsin.

She sighed and looked at her watch again. Okay, so maybe she was getting a little impatient. Her flight had not been smooth and the woman in front of her had dropped the back of her seat just as the flight attendant had placed Allison's soda on the tray table. The woman in the seat next to her had been quiet, which was a good thing, but she had worn a lot of a very strong perfume. So now in addition to a dark stain on her jeans in a semi-embarrassing place, Allison also had a headache that throbbed through her sinuses and temples.

But she wasn't in Wisconsin.

It'd be really nice if one of her "colleagues" would manage to make it here sometime this week, though. Maybe Wilson. She'd even take Cuddy at this point.

She heard someone call her name. Not a voice she recognized immediately.

She turned her head and saw Brad Sampson, the hospital's new counsel heading in her direction. He'd work too, she thought.

She stood and smiled. "Hi there. Please tell me you're not traveling yourself."

He was blown away for just a second. The same way he had been the first time he had seen her. God, she was gorgeous, and there was something about her standing in front of him in jeans and a t-shirt that made her even more appealing than she was in her lab coat. He managed answer her without sounding like a complete moron.

"No. I'm here to pick you up."

"What happened to Foreman and Chase?" she asked. Then she added, "Not that I'm not grateful to you."

He grabbed hold of her wheeled suitcase and started to lead her toward parking. "Your department got a case yesterday. House didn't think he could spare either of them. He suggested to Cuddy that I go instead."

She laughed. "Wow. You're really good at that whole tactful thing, aren't you? Let me translate: House and I didn't exactly part on great terms last week so he decided to make it as hard as he could for me to get home. He probably didn't suggest that you come to get me, he probably made some comment about you needing to work for your lawyer salary…"

"…instead of sharpening Cuddy's pencils." He finished. "Yeah, that's about it." He looked down at her. "Pretty good at reading your boss, aren't you?"

"You have to be if you want to survive him," she said flippantly, hoping that he would change the subject. She hated talking about House like this.

"Why do you stay with him?"

Her least favorite question. "He's brilliant."

"A good learning experience, I imagine." He responded. "Did you eat anything on the plane?"

He changed the subject, she thought. Thank God. "I ate something, but I'm not sure it qualified as food."

"Well, why don't we stop and get something to eat before we go back? Your colleagues seem to be handling things pretty well."

She smiled in agreement and looked up at the man pulling her suitcase along the sidewalk. Nice guy. She'd have to be sure to thank House.

**OOOO**

_Back in the present…_

Now that Allison had managed to thank House for unwittingly setting her up with Brad, she was reaping the rewards. She sighed and shifted the really heavy guide to pediatric medicine to the side and reached for one of the AMA journals she had pulled from the hospital's medical library.

House had originally come into the conference room to introduce their new case to them – a three year-old with high fever, rash, increased heart rate, and no discernable allergies – when he overheard the conversation about her dating life. Her comments had earned her several minutes of snark about her inability to deal well with dying children and their families, as well as the punishment of doing the book research.

So the guys were off doing histories and labs while she sat checking and cross checking the child's symptoms with the ideas House had scribbled on the white board.

Her pen ran dead in the middle of one of her notes about a specific heart condition. She shook it, sighed again, and walked to her desk. Nothing. No pens to be had. Her supplies seemed to find their way to House's desk more often than not. She glared in that general direction and marched toward through the door, not paying a bit of mind to the drawn blinds.

She stopped short on her scavenger hunt when she realized that House sitting at his desk tossing the magic eight ball that she hadn't seen in quite some time up and down. His legs were up on the desk and he was leaned back in his chair as far as possible before it would fall backward.

She hesitated for a split second before squaring her shoulders and heading in her original direction. She had nothing whatsoever to be embarrassed or wary about.

She started shifting through the mess on his desk. Surely, he would have one stupid pen somewhere here.

"What the hell are you doing?" He kept tossing the black ball and didn't look at her.

"You stole all my pens from my desk. I need one." She lifted a motorcycle accessory catalogue and shoved a prescription pad to the side. "Besides, I'm the one who'll end up cleaning up this mess anyway."

He caught the ball with one hand and slammed his other hand on top of hers. "Stop it."

"I need a pen."

"Leave my desk alone."

"Fine. Answer your own mail. File your own reports." She pulled her hands out from under his and turned to leave, but she was stopped by House's voice raised in a pseudo-eerie chant.

"Oh, Magic Eight Ball, what does Cameron see in her wimpy lawyer boyfriend?" He shook the ball dramatically while he gave her a wild-eyed look. He stopped suddenly and jerked his eyes around to the little window on the toy. "It says it needs more information."

"Really? What does it say about psychotic diagnostic specialists? Does it recommend any particular mental hospital?" She turned to go again.

"So, tell me. Since I'm supposedly to blame for all your current boring bliss, what exactly is it that attracts you to this guy?"

Why did she do this to herself? Why didn't she just turn and walk out the door? A normal person would. Not her, though. She faced him and answered, "He's nice."

House groaned. "Yeah, yeah. He's nice. We can all see that." He swung his legs around, put the eight ball down, and folded his hands on the desk top. "That's not what I'm talking about."

"House…" she started exasperatedly.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Oh, God. Are you going to start with that again?"

"As one of the chosen few, I think I deserve to know." He put on a sad puppy face. "What's wrong with him that's not wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with him." She barely kept from shouting.

"Has to be something, otherwise why would you be interested? TB? Brain tumor? Infarction? Or have you been hopped up on meth for the past month?" He could see her trying hard not to loose it with him. He could almost swear she was actually biting her tongue.

She threw her hands up. "He wears glasses. Is that good enough for you?"

"I know what it is." He picked up the eight ball again. "He's boring as hell." He shook the ball a couple of times. "It says, 'No Kidding.' I didn't know it could be sarcastic, did you?"

"Oh for Christ's sake. Would you stop?" Now she was yelling.

"Movies every Friday. Please tell me you do better things on Saturdays." He supposed it was sick and wrong of him, but it had been a long time since he had had a good blowout with Cameron. He was amused by the pink in her cheeks that would probably turning red soon if he didn't back down.

"You know, it's really none of your business."

"Have you slept with him yet?"

"Definitely none of your business." She made it all the way to the door this time.

"Definitely a 'no' I'd say."

"Again, none of your business."

"Why are you so unwilling to talk about your lawyer boyfriend?"

"Why are you so interested?"

"I'm experienced with the hospital's counsel slash doctor relationship. Just curious." Damn, he thought, that may have been a tactical error. He tried to cover it up by raising his eyebrow an obnoxious way that only he could manage.

It didn't work, though. Allison caught the change in the tenor of the questions. "Are you worried that he'll dump me when I catch a cold?" she asked more calmly.

"It was hardly a cold."

"I don't really think it would have mattered. Do you?"

He glared at her.

She raised her eyebrow back at him, then turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"I still need a pen."

"Here." He pulled one – one of hers – out of his desk drawer and threw it to her. "Go figure out what's wrong with the kids before the Bobbsey twins beat you to it." He turned, swung his left leg back up on the desk and lifted his right up next to it. He leaned his head back on the chair and closed his eyes.

Cameron shook her head and headed back to the conference room and the piles of books waiting for her. She sat still for a second thinking about Brad. Nice guy. Yes. Boring? Well, he certainly wasn't beating people with a cane, but he wasn't boring.

Movies were fun.

She liked movies.

Of course she did.

Who didn't like movies?

No one.

Right?


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Nothing's mine but the story idea – such as it is.

**A/N:** This is a pretty long chapter. Thanks for reading, and to those of you who have been with this since last year when I started it: thanks for sticking with me. I really appreciate it. Please let me know what you think.

**OOOO**

It was never completely quiet in a hospital. Even now – Cameron looked at her watch – even now at 3:18 in the morning, there was noise. Aside from the voices and equipment, here, in the Pediatric-ICU waiting area, there were the more unsettling, although quieter sounds of restlessness, nervousness coming from the parents of the little girl who was lying in the hospital bed fifty feet behind Cameron. The lights were off overhead, but the lamp on the table, there to make the room more comfortable and homey to those who had the anguishing job of waiting, was on, casting a glow around the bent head of the child's mother and her father who was leaned back staring at the far corner of the ceiling.

The father sensed Cameron first and met her eyes. From across the room, she saw him break, quickly, then he squeezed his eyes shut, sat up straighter and placed a hand on his wife's back.

He knew, thought Cameron. She didn't have to say a word. He knew. She walked across the shadowy room and pulled one of the chairs up to face the couple.

She spoke quietly, holding the hands that the mother had held out to her when she had first approached. She explained what she could, then stopped as the mother withdrew her hands to cover her sobs. Cameron placed her elbows on her knees and her eyes on the mother.

**OOOO**

One of the last things House had expected to see when he walked in his office Monday morning was Cameron asleep in his lounge chair. First of all, it was 8:59 a.m. and he was fairly certain that she should be making his coffee. Secondly, he had exploited his role as resident boss and slave master and had called her in to take a history and do various tests on a kid who had been admitted in the middle of the night. Why the hell wasn't she doing something with that? Thirdly… Well, thirdly, this was Cameron and she just didn't sleep on his lounge chair. That was his job. He was a whole minute early to work and here she was curled up, sleeping peacefully. Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

He hobbled to the chair and his sleeping employee. He felt a bit predatory as he stood over her watching her sleep. His conscious forced him to glance in the direction of the conference room to see if Foreman and Chase had come in yet; he had a unsettled feeling, guilty almost, as he watched her at her most relaxed.

She was small enough to actually look comfortable turned to her side with her legs curled up toward her stomach and her head resting on her forearm. She had, of course, managed to dress professionally despite the midnight wake-up call, but her lab coat was bunched behind her on the chair.

After several moments of studying her entire form, House's gaze focused on her face. It was then that he noticed that perhaps she wasn't sleeping as soundly as he thought. There was a crease between her eyebrows and her lips were pressed together much too tightly for someone who might be having pleasant dreams. He bent a little lower, and unconsciously reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.

"Morning."

"Jesus!" House shot straight back up and took a startled step back on his sore leg. "Dammit." He tried his best to regain his footing, but ended up hobbling backwards and slamming into his desk, rear end first.

Cameron woke up unpleasantly at his outburst. Her heart was pounding and she felt a little dizzy. She squinted her gritty eyes around the room and glared at the two men who stood there. Wilson, who had been the cause of the ruckus, had a bemused expression on his face as if he couldn't decide whether to laugh or run. House was glaring, rubbing his leg, and muttering curses at Wilson that should have answered the question for him.

After her heartbeat came down and after she had shaken the fuzzy confusion from her head, Cameron asked, "What time is it?" Her voice was rough and grainy.

"Time for you to be ready for work." House dug in his jacket pocket for his pills. "What the hell are you doing sleeping in here? Where are the test results for that patient Cuddy had admitted last night?" He turned to Wilson, "Since when do we admit patients to this department in the middle of the night?"

"Her parents are friends of someone on the board," Cameron answered. "Have you started the coffee yet?" She rubbed at her eyes and reached back to fix the ponytail in her hair.

House popped a pill. "You're kidding right? Why would I start the coffee when you're right there?"

"Never mind." She stood up slowly, letting her sore muscles and stiff joints shift back into place. "I don't know how you sleep on that thing."

"And I'd like to know why you're sleeping on it." He watched Cameron stretch and felt a twinge of something that was decidedly not a good idea. "Again, where is the kid's file?"

Cameron looked thoughtful for a second and then reached down under the chair she had just been lying on. "Here it is."

"Nice place for it." House snatched it out of her hands. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

"She died."

"What?" House stopped his absent flipping through the pages and looked up at Cameron.

"She died. 3:10 a.m. She coded." Cameron seemed a bit glazed as she looked toward House, but not right at him. She paused, shook her head a little as if to clear the muck out, and then continued, speaking more quickly. "I didn't call you because there really wasn't anything to be done of course. Her parents asked me to thank you for agreeing to take her as a patient." She finally looked him in the eyes and shrugged, as if pointing out the fact that he had had nothing to do with the child's admittance.

House hesitated for just a moment. He glanced at Wilson who was looking with concern at Cameron. He shut the folder and dropped it on his desk. "Dead kid plus parents plus Cameron. Fairly easy equation," he mumbled.

"House…" Wilson started to protest.

House looked Cameron straight in the eye. She felt the need to squirm, but held off the urge. She, like Wilson, had a fairly good idea of what was coming next…

"Go home and change. You're a mess."

… and that was not it. Cameron studied her boss more closely. She waited for the zinger, the nasty comment about her abilities to deal with emotional situations. After a few seconds, nothing seemed to be forthcoming.

"You blinked," he said. "You lose." He pointed to the door. "Go home, I said. If you get your butt out of here fast enough I won't even insist that you make the coffee before you go."

Cameron turned toward the door slowly, bent to retrieve her lab coat, and looked at Wilson. He shrugged and she walked out.

"What was that all about?" Wilson asked his friend incredulously.

"What was what all about?" House evaded the question.

"You didn't slam her or ask her if she cried or hugged the mom. You totally ignored what has been for the past couple of years one of your favorite means of torturing her. Not only that, you let her go home. You were what some would call kind."

"Maybe I'm growing as a human being."

"Doubtful. If that were happening, they'd be skiing in Hell and pigs would be flying." Wilson plopped himself down in the lounge chair Cameron had just vacated.

"Use clichés much?" House fingered the child's file that Cameron had given him. If he could get Wilson out of the office, he'd start looking things over. Little girls just didn't code and die normally.

"You're still evading the question." Wilson grinned. "Why didn't you take advantage of the opportunity to put Cameron in what you would consider, and have considered, to be her place?"

House didn't know what to say for once, but Wilson didn't give him chance to demonstrate that.

"I was watching you, you know." Wilson crossed his arms in front of his chest and took on the air of a very smug man.

"That sounds really creepy. Do I need a restraining order?"

"While she was sleeping, before I came in." Wilson didn't let his friend interrupt his small moment of glory. "You looked awfully interested…" He stopped, thinking. "…no, I think _entranced_ might be a better word for it."

"Oh, good God…"

"Yep. I'd say entranced is the perfect word." Wilson watched as House's face closed. Good sign that he was on the right track. "Gorgeous Allison Cameron sleeping peacefully in your comfy chair." He patted the arm rest. "Not a bad sight first thing in the morning."

"Don't you have poisons to shoot into some dying people somewhere?"

"Are you softening up, Dr. House?" Wilson remained in his seat.

"Why are you ignoring everything I say?"

"You seem to be the one doing the ignoring here. In fact…"

House slapped the folder shut. "Oh, please don't finish that statement. Just tell what it is that I'm supposed to be noticing."

"You are, after way too long, may I add, finally giving Cameron her due."

"You have the most convoluted way of saying things." House grouched.

Wilson refrained himself from calling the kettle black. "Fine. You've finally moved from just having the hots for your resident immunologist. You're actually seeing her as someone, oh, I don't know, special." Wilson's voice had lost a bit of its teasing tone. He was completely serious about this and he didn't want his friend to think otherwise. As far as he was concerned it was about damned time House pulled his head out of his ass. He couldn't think of one other heterosexual male of his acquaintance who would be able to keep Allison Cameron at an arm's length for as long as House had. He knew why House had held off – age, the boss thing, the cane, and so on. Self-sacrifice was only noble for a while. After a time, it became self-destructive.

"Special, huh? Isn't that sweet." House gave Wilson his best disgusted-with-this-conversation look. He should have known better than to think it would work. Actually it didn't work on too many people any more. At least not the ones who knew him best.

As predicted, Wilson only smirked. "Whatever you want to call it. Do you deny it?" he asked knowing full well that House would.

"She's a baby. Technically, I could be her father."

"Sure, if someone would've had sex with you when you were fifteen." Wilson snorted.

"She's also my employee."

"True. But that won't always be the case. In fact I heard her talking to Foreman the other day about what she wants to do after she's done here."

House felt a bite in his gut at the thought of Cameron leaving the program. He tried to tell himself that it was the idea of having to go through stupid interviews that brought on the pain. "She can do whatever the hell she wants."

"So you have no problem with her leaving."

"Nope."

"And you have no problem with her seeing someone else?" Wilson felt like he was putting cheese on a trap. Maybe another bad cliché, but it worked.

"Nope. Hasn't she been seeing Lawyer Boy for a few months now? You haven't seen me threatening to jump yet, have you?"

"They broke up several days ago."

House's head jerked up. "How do you know?"

"One of the nurses told me."

"Why?" House asked.

"Because that particular nurse is terrified of you and not me," Wilson answered, deliberately misunderstanding House. Watching House sit through this game was way too fun to let it end too abruptly.

House was onto him, though. He lifted his cane in a semi-threatening manner toward Wilson.

"Why did they break up you mean?" Wilson asked obtusely. "I don't know."

This time the cane was fully threatening as House shook it at him.

Wilson laughed. "I really don't know. No one does. They just stopped hanging around each other all the time and Cameron has been going home later. Doing more at the clinic, I guess."

House sat at his desk. He flipped open the file of the dead child and began to scan the pages.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Wilson prodded.

"Nothing besides 'Go away.'" House didn't look up from the file.

"Hmmph."

House remained silent and his best friend nodded to himself. "Well," he said, "I didn't actually come in here to razz you about Cameron."

No response.

"Why did I come in?" Wilson continued with a jovial and goofy tone. "Well, Dr. House, I'll tell you. My divorce becomes final this morning."

House perked up a little at that news. "Really? Are you going to have any money left after Julie gets done with you?"

"A little."

"Good. You can take us out to dinner."

"And when you say 'us'…?"

"You know the drill. I mean every person who has had to deal with your ridiculous marriage and inevitable divorce. Us. All of us. But especially me."

Wilson chuckled. "Let the tradition continue, eh?"

"Hey, you peed on my couch. I think I deserve dinner at least. Some people get a couple hundred dollars for that kind of service."

"Well, gather up the troops. I've got a court date this morning."

House watched Wilson leave, then started paging people. He was pretty sure that the only times he had ever organized a social event were the other two divorces. He automatically hit the right buttons for Cuddy, Foreman, and Chase. He paused on Cameron for a second. She wouldn't be in the building. She would be on her way home by now he was sure. Paging her wouldn't do much good until she got back.

He drummed his fingers uselessly on the phone keypad.

Broke up with Lawyer Boy, huh? He wondered why. And a tiny little piece of himself, buried way down inside, wondered if he had anything to do with it.

**OOOO**

"This is weird." Chase followed Cameron and Foreman into the bar and grill. "I mean, who has a _party_ when they get divorced?"

"A lot of people do, Your Holiness." Foreman looked around at the bar, the dance floor, and the absence of a huge throng of people. Certainly looked different on a Tuesday night, he thought.

"My mum picked up a bottle of booze in one hand and the pen to sign the papers in the other." Chase was craning his neck around to see if anyone else had arrived. "She put the pen down eventually."

Foreman rolled his eyes. "I see Cuddy over there." He started to lead the way toward the table that had been decorated with a broken wedding cake topper and a sign that read "Reserved for Divorce Party."

Cameron chuckled. She figured the decorations had to have come from Cuddy. House certainly wasn't capable of such inventiveness – not in the name of fun, anyway. "If nothing else," she said to her co-workers, "this should be interesting."

"At the very least," said a voice from behind Cameron. Then a big hand was pushing her from behind. "Hurry, hurry, little girl. Time for a party."

They had made it to the table. Cuddy looked at House and his gang of merry makers and asked him where the guest of honor was.

"He's paying the cab."

Cameron looked at House. "Shouldn't you be paying the cab? This is a party for him isn't it?" Her tone was teasing.

"Ah, just another reminder of your youth and innocence." He waved a server over. "This party is not _for_ Wilson; this party is _by _Wilson. We suffer through his divorce, he thanks us – or apologizes as the case may be – by treating all of us to a night on the town."

"A favor you never did for any of us when Stacy dumped you, by the way." Wilson joined the crew at the large round booth.

"I was too busy wallowing. And you are much nicer than I am." House ordered drinks for everyone at the table then pointed to Wilson. "This is all on him. Just take his gold card and run a tab."

"The decorations?" Cameron nodded toward the beheaded groom and the pissed off looking bride. Someone had actually drawn a scowl on her face with a marker.

"A divorce present from the first wife," Wilson explained. "She handed it to me after the hearing."

"She was the one House actually got along with," added Cuddy.

"Anyone who hands a man a decapitated image of him and tells him he's lucky the thing isn't anatomically correct is a winner in my book." He took a long pull on the imported beer he had ordered. "You should have stuck with her."

"I would have if she hadn't found out about the nurse in pediatrics." He shot a look at House.

"I didn't know you were in there with that girl."

Chase cut Wilson's retort off. "Man, you're screwed up."

"Yep," agreed House, "which is why we are enjoying this night of debauchery." He saluted Wilson with the beer bottle. "May you continue to find wedded misery so that we can guilt you into more free beer and food."

**OOOO**

Several hours, gallons of liquor, and mass quantities of appetizers later, Chase, Foreman, and Cuddy were on the tiny dance floor doing a wobbly but intrepid version of the Electric Slide. Wilson, who was too drunk to do much more than make frequent trips to the men's room and sit at the table, was busy admiring their moves from afar. House, who had kept the drinking to a relative minimum – surprisingly, Cameron thought – was amusing himself by listing all of Wilson's improprieties within and outside of marriage.

He had claimed to Cameron that this was also a tradition. The other two times they had had this ritual meal, he had taken the time to do the same thing. He noticed that she was looking pensive and that she was way too quiet for the surrounding Tuesday night, low-level chaos. He had tried teasing her into dancing with the others, but she had claimed that line dancing was something she had given up with her pom-poms and cheerleader routines. She had punched a thumb towards the three dancers and had said, "All they need is a pyramid and someone doing a few back flips in front of them." He made a totally predictable comment about her cheerleading outfit and then went back to his list of Wilson's transgressions as if he were Saint Peter checking things off in his big book.

Cameron didn't want to be the party pooper, but after coming down from the buzz of a few drinks, she found herself in that horrible stage of inebriation where nothing is fun and everything is serious. Another couple of drinks would cure that, but she was kind of enjoying her misery, so she let herself go with it.

She looked over at Wilson, who was staring stupidly at the mangled cake topper in front of him as he fiddled with it. It was pathetic really, she thought. No, more like criminally stupid. Here was a good looking, generally kind, intelligent, wealthy, educated man who couldn't seem to keep his libido under control enough to stay married. On paper, he was a catch – the kind of doctor she and a couple of her friends had dreamed about during their internships. Off paper, he was a player.

She smiled at herself. Player. Great word. She chuckled. Yep. That's exactly what Wilson was. The moron couldn't keep it in his pants and suffered for it. She smiled again at her crudity. She looked over at House, who seemed to have run out of affairs – finally – and studied him for minute.

Here was another moron when it came to women. Aside from the kind thing, House looked just as good on paper as Wilson. Then he opened his mouth. He didn't have to have numerous affairs, he just had to offer his opinion to keep women running. And just like Wilson, he was perfectly satisfied to have it that way. So the women just kept running.

Most women anyway. Not her. Nope. No-sir-ee. She came back for more. No, wait; she had only come back once. Then she had stuck around for dose after dose. Her attempts to take the upper hand had been useless at best. And last week, she had been very complacent about losing Brad, a decent guy with no player tendencies. It wasn't necessarily because of House, but she couldn't completely lie to herself and say that it wasn't _not_ because of him either. She let her head hit the table for a moment then swung it back up to find House watching her with a bemused look on his face.

"You look like a co-ed who just realized that she forgot to take her pill before she left for the party." He grinned slightly at the sight of Cameron mussed up and slightly flushed from the alcohol.

Despite the alcohol, Cameron found herself too charmed by that small grin. The misery came oozing back with just a touch of anger. The anger spoke next. "No, I'm actually an MD who just realized that she's been played for way too long." She stood up, took her jacket from the hook behind the booth, reached under the table for her purse and marched toward the door.

House watched her backtrack and ask the bartender something – probably to call her a cab – and then swoosh out the door in a sluggish, but mostly dignified manner.

He glanced over at Wilson who had his chin on the table and was staring into the pissed-off face of the plastic bride. He poked at Wilson's arm. "Listen, Jimmy, I'm going to make sure Cameron gets a cab."

Wilson slurred, "You're right. I shoulda kept hold of this one."

House hobbled past the dance floor. He wasn't sure what dance they had moved onto, but Cuddy was doing a hell of a job keeping the male attention there firmly on her. Chase and Foreman were the only two who were oblivious. House was okay with that because he didn't particularly want anyone to notice him being what amounted to chivalrous.

It was chilly outside and there weren't many people around. Spotting Cameron wasn't too difficult. She was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, arms pulled tight around her middle. She looked up and down the street expectantly, waiting for her cab.

"Did you call a cab or are you waiting for a mugger to find you first?" House snarked.

She turned to look at him and gave him her best withering stare.

House ignored that. All that meant to him was that she was in a mood he could deal with.

"You don't have to stand out here with me," she chattered.

"No, I don't but I don't think I can handle watching Chase dance anymore. He must be the whitest man on the planet."

He got no response and just stood there for a minute, watching his breath form clouds in front of him.

The next thing out of his mouth was not at all planned, but it was, as far as he was concerned, necessary.

"Why did you break up with him?"

"Who?"

"Who?" He repeated incredulously. "How many men could you have broken up with recently? Lawyer Boy, that's who."

"Drop it, House."

"Nope. Too curious. Nice guy like Brad Sampson. Seemed crazy about you. Young, educated, decent looking if you like the wholesome type. What went wrong?"

The cold was starting to wear down the slightly pleasant buzz Cameron had been trying to maintain by sheer force of will. She was not enjoying this line of questioning and she was getting cold.

When she replied, she didn't turn to look at her tormentor. "We just didn't work out, House."

"Aw, come on. It has to be better than that." He stepped toward her, subconsciously knowing that his proximity would throw her. "Spill."

She let out a shaky, cold sigh. "He thought I was pretty; I thought he was nice. I think even you would agree that's not enough to build a good relationship on."

"Doesn't make sense." He edged a little closer. It might have been the alcohol, but he felt a little crackle of cheer at her answer. "Why would that make you break up?"

She let a few seconds pass. "We were bored with each other."

"You were bored with him."

"No. We were bored with each other. Apparently both of us want more than a pretty face and good manners."

"No explosive fights?"

"Nope."

"Boring."

"Yep."

The noise level picked up for a second as a bakery truck passed by them. Then it was silent again.

Cameron stood with her back to House, but her senses were on full alert. She knew exactly how far he was from her – probably to the inch. She felt a tingling in her shoulders she knew came from his eyes staring at her. She jumped a little when she heard him mutter, "Oh, hell." Then she was being dragged by her wrist to the side of the building and pushed up against the wall. His mouth landed on the side of her lips, maybe not where he had been aiming, but devastating anyway.

He dragged his lips over hers until they were centered where he wanted them. At first, he only held her wrist but then she heard the cane drop and his other hand was free to grab onto the ponytail at the back of her head.

He slanted his mouth and pushed down on her bottom lip with his, demanding that she let him explore the inside of her lips and the texture of her tongue.

Allison's hands were caught between their two bodies. She had been startled and unable to react at first, but it didn't take long for her to push back against his mouth with her own.

It was painful. Painful because it was rough, and painful because it was actually happening. Her teeth knocked against his and she pulled her head back abruptly. His mouth chased after hers, but she evaded him and then pushed him away from her.

They were both breathing raggedly as House let go of Cameron and put both his hands on the wall on either side of her. She looked shell-shocked, but he couldn't feel guilty in the least. He wanted more. He wanted to try that again without the bricks eating into his hands and without the taste of alcohol on their tongues.

Cameron was surprised that it was still so silent around them. In her head, there was the sound of hundreds of people and loud machinery. She shook her head a bit to try to quiet them and only succeeded in hearing the sudden sound of a car horn bleating in the midst of the cacophony.

"Taxi," she whispered and tried to move quickly from the cage House's arms were making.

"Wait." He grabbed onto her arm again and forced her to swing around and look at him. "Not boring," he said matter-of-factly.

She only looked at him, her eyes wide and dazed. Then she shook her arm free and went to the waiting cab.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer 1: **I don't own House. I don't even own _a_ house.

**Disclaimer 2:** I'm not a lawyer, and I did no research for this.

**A/N:** The next chapter will be moving toward resolution. Maybe two more, maybe three. My thanks and admiration to everyone who has been patient with me as I've slowly put this together. Please review!

**OOOO**

"Oh, come on." Cameron moaned and dropped her face to her hands. In front of her were a new patient file and a baggie holding a pregnancy test stick with a very distinct plus sign in the window.

"I really don't want to do this," she whined to the nurse who had zero sympathy for the doctor in front of her.

"I really don't care," the nurse responded. "You're the only one of your department who bothered to show up here this morning, so the pleasure is all yours."

"Listen, I had a really long night last night," Cameron began with her most beguiling smile, "and I would really consider it a huge favor if you would take care of this one."

"Here's an idea." The nurse was simultaneously writing on a clipboard and shooting a tone of complete disgust towards Cameron. "How about if just once someone in your department gets here in time to cover Clinic and I don't have to search all over the hospital for you. I," she emphasized the pronoun, "would consider it a huge favor if you would do your jobs without excuses and without complaints."

"I'm always here on time."

"I'm not talking about you." The nurse walked across the station and left Cameron to contemplate that one.

"Of course you're not," she mumbled. House had never been known for his easygoing demeanor in the Clinic nor for his timeliness.

A reminder of House, and consequently the reason for her sleepless night, was not what she needed at that moment. The night before had been Wilson's divorce party. It had also been the night that House had grabbed her and kissed her in a way that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about.

She shivered at the memory. The night before – what there had been left of it – her thoughts had jumped around frantically. She had considered every angle of the situation, including his possible intentions, his lack of possible intentions, and the amounts of alcohol and Vicodin involved. She had thought about her reaction – too desperate? Too greedy? Too cool? Ha. Not likely.

She had also replayed the entire thirty seconds or so in her head. Over and over again. His hands. His beard. His mouth.

She suddenly felt tingles and warmth that weren't appropriate for the Clinic, so she picked up the chart and headed toward the examine room. That didn't stop her, though, from running through the other problem she had been contemplating for a good portion of the night. She had no idea what she would say to House or how she would react when she saw him today.

When she reached the exam room door, she stopped and flipped open the chart again. Fifteen. A fifteen year-old soon-to-be mom. Lovely.

Cameron knocked politely before she entered. She was a little surprised to see that the girl was not alone. Normally, the nurses indicated if parents or guardians were present, but that seemed to be too much of a favor as well.

"Amber?" She smiled at the girl on the table and took quick note of her appearance: pretty, a little overweight, puffy eyes, and tear-stained face. The girl kept looking at her hands, but Cameron saw a small nod in affirmation.

Trying to stay positive, Cameron turned to Amber's parents with her right hand outstretched. "Mr. and Mrs. Davis?" She took a step toward them. "I'm Dr. Cameron…"

"Is she pregnant?" barked the middle aged man with the beginnings of a paunch. He made no move to shake the doctor's hand.

Okay. Cameron turned toward the mother, who merely set her thin lips tighter together and raised her eyebrows in a silent repeat of her husband's question.

Turning toward the girl again – she was not going to be bullied by these people – she addressed herself to her patient.

"Amber," the girl looked up from under her matted eyelashes, "the pregnancy test is positive."

At that, the room suddenly became violently louder as the father punched the cabinet door next to him and the mother screamed, "slut!" at her daughter. Amber herself began to shake and bawl as she huddled toward the back of the exam table she was sitting on, apparently trying to move away from the adults in the room.

Cameron had a microsecond when she flashed back to the abusive father she had encountered months ago, but them the emergency reaction in her brain clicked in. She dropped the chart on the counter, pushed the door open, and yelled out for security. Then she kicked the stand down on the door so that it wouldn't swing shut and moved toward the teenager.

The girl's father reached her a split second after Cameron did. Cameron moved in front of her with her back to her just as the father reached to get Cameron out of the way. Just as he was about to make contact, he jerked back hard and yelped as he stumbled and fell to the floor.

Cameron looked up and saw House standing there with his cane still hooked to the man's upper arm. His other hand was holding tight to Amber's mother, who stood immobile at the sight of her husband sprawled on the floor.

"My hero." Cameron said a little wryly, but silently happy to see him.

"Yeah. I'm probably going to be the one to get sued this time."

**OOOO**

Lisa Cuddy gave in to temptation and rubbed her temples, which had been throbbing since she got out of bed that morning. She wasn't exactly sure how she made it home after Wilson's divorce party, but she had apparently made it as far as her bedroom before passing out in her clothes. When she had awoken, her hair had smelled like cigarette smoke and her mouth had felt and tasted like something had died in there.

After she had guzzled a pot of coffee and had felt slightly more human, she had congratulated herself on having an alarm clock that went off automatically each morning without needing to be set each night. Now, though, as she looked at the two doctors, the lawyer, and the social worker crowded in her office, she cursed that clock and wanted nothing more than to be back in bed with her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

"Let me get this straight," she began and pointed toward Cameron. "Your clinic patient was a fifteen year-old pregnant girl…"

"Amber Davis," Cameron interjected.

"Thank you." Cuddy refrained from reminding Cameron that she, too, could read a chart. The fewer words she said, the more likely that she wouldn't be puking on the desk. "And her parents are extremely displeased."

"They were violent." Cameron wasn't about to let a bit of this go. She wanted that girl out of that home, and everyone there needed to hear the story as many times as possible.

Cuddy didn't roll her eyes for fear of pain, but she thought about it. "Then you," she pointed at House this time, "barged in and hooked the dad with your cane, pulling him to the ground. In the meantime, you had a strong enough hold on the mother's arm that you left bruises."

This time when Cameron went to step in, Cuddy stopped her. "Then – and this is the part that amazes me – you announced that you would probably be sued for your actions right in front of the probable plaintiffs." She sighed. "How is it possible that a man who knows more about lawsuits than some attorneys would be stupid enough to say that?"

"You're not very nice when you're hung over." House squinted at her. "And not very attractive either. Haven't you ever heard of concealer?"

"Brad?" Cuddy put her head back in her hands and waited for the attorney to step in.

He cleared his throat a little nervously. He hated working with House, but that had sort of become the mainstay of his employment here. On average he had to deal with things like this on at least a biweekly basis.

"I really don't think that they will have a case," he started.

"But that's what we thought when Dr. Cameron assaulted the last dad who crossed her," Cuddy pointed out.

"I didn't assault him," Cameron protested. "I defended myself."

"And he tried to sue," Cuddy reminded her.

"If I may," the social worker stepped in, "I really have a huge caseload today and I would like to get this over with."

"Fine," Cuddy conceded, "we'll worry about a lawsuit if it happens. What do you need from us?"

"Well, nothing really." The social worker shrugged. "I just need you to sign off on this and then I can get going." She handed some papers to Cuddy, who waved them toward Cameron.

"You're the physician in charge. You sign off," she told her.

Cameron took the papers in her hands and leaned toward Cuddy's desk. She reached for her pen as she glanced at the form. She stopped and looked at the social worker. "What does this mean, 'placement in home/ parental custody?'"

"Exactly what it says. The parents agreed to let her come home."

"But when security came to the room, the dad was screaming about how she wasn't welcome there any more." Cameron pointed out.

"They changed their minds when I explained to them that kicking her out might be construed as neglect."

"Might be?" Cameron asked incredulously.

The social worker stood and leaned toward the papers. She pointed to the line at the bottom. "If you'll just sign here, Dr. Cameron, we can all move on."

"He told her that he would punish her and 'show her the error of her ways,'" Cameron quoted.

"After he calmed down, I felt that he and his wife were suitable caregivers."

"The mother called her a slut." Cameron's tone was becoming sharper.

"Cameron, please sign the papers," Cuddy told her impatiently.

"No, not until I know what is going to be done about this." Cameron laid her hands on the papers and looked expectantly at the social worker.

"There is nothing I can do. She has a home to go to and parents who will probably be okay with her…"

"Probably?" Cameron snorted. "That's reassuring."

"What would you like me to do?" The social worker was clearly bored and a little pissed at the directions the conversation was taking.

"I would like you to look into half-way houses, foster care…"

"No foster parent is going to take a pregnant child into their home willingly and besides it would take a court order for that to happen. As for half-way houses, they are full and require either the court's intervention or the parents' consent."

"So get court intervention," Cameron said matter-of-factly.

"When exactly would you like me to do that, Dr. Cameron?" The lady clearly didn't like Cameron's attitude.

"Cameron, let me sign the forms," Cuddy said, "then you won't have to feel guilty about it."

"You're okay with this?" Cameron knew Cuddy could be very administrative, but she didn't think she would stoop to this.

"No, but I realize that social services is very overworked and this is probably the only viable solution." Cuddy tried to leave the pleading out of her voice. Damn that alarm clock. "Just let me sign the papers." She held her hands out.

"No. Like you said, I'm the primary here and I'll sign them when I think it's the right time." Cameron picked the papers up herself and tapped them in place.

"House?" Cuddy looked at him.

"What?"

"You haven't said much, which is weird. Would you please say something to Dr. Cameron?"

"Sure." He turned to his right and looked at Cameron who was daring him with her eyes to cross her. "I wouldn't sign them either."

She grinned a little, stood, and turned toward the social worker. "Call me at three today. If I can't come up with something better, I'll sign away."

**OOOO**

House craned his neck to peek at Cameron, who had been at her desk on the phone for the past four hours. She had the yellow pages in front of her and she was massaging her own neck while she talked. He had no idea what she was doing or whom she was talking to, but this call seemed to be taking longer than the others had. Maybe that was a good sign.

He shifted his attention back to the soap opera on the television and gave the ball in his hand a couple more tosses. Just as began to think about the slightly more useful ways he could be spending his time, Cameron let out with what could only be described as a hoot of victory. Through the bookcase shelves, he saw her jump up and head toward his office space.

"I take it you've found a way to rescue the knocked-up kid?" He gave the ball another toss.

"Not only did I do that, she is going to be out of her parents' house in about an hour."

"How did you manage that, sexual favors?" He resisted telling her that he thought she had done a good thing. He wasn't sure how to handle this after last night, so he decided that his same old schtick would have to do.

"Funny." Cameron plopped herself down on one of the chairs in front of his desk. "I found a couple of organizations who were willing to help and a family court judge who didn't like the situation any more than I did."

"Did you call the social worker?"

"Yep. Then I called her supervisor."

"Tattle-tale." But he grinned a little at that one.

"Maybe. At least now Amber has a better chance."

He stole a glance at her as she sat looking very pleased with herself. And gorgeous. And too damned young.

"Why did you do it?" he asked as he resumed tossing the ball and catching it.

"Wouldn't you?"

"Not the point." He caught the ball one last time and then turned toward her. "Why did _you_ do it?"

"Because I'm human?" She looked at him strangely. "Why else?"

"No, I don't think so. You have this thing for kids and other sad cases. I don't think it's just your dead husband that compels you either."

"House. Please don't do this again," she moaned.

"We've already covered the fact that you never had your own kid who died tragically or was born with three arms. You claim that you've never been the object of abuse or ridicule. So what is it?" It was almost as if he couldn't stop his own mouth. Why didn't he just congratulate her and go home?

"She's a little girl who's pregnant. Her parents are bastards. The system is screwed up. What other reasons do I need?" She had lost that happy glow and was now glaring at him, tired and fed up.

"I don't know. Just seems strange to me."

At his response, her expression changed. Her forehead furrowed and she tilted her head to one side. She waited, then asked her own question. "Why?" She stood and walked toward his desk. "Why would it be strange for a person to care like that?"

Her approach startled him. He turned again to the side stood, reaching under his desk for his backpack. He pulled his jacket off the back of his chair and started to pull it on, but she reached out and stopped his hands. He looked up at her and got caught by her gaze.

"It's my turn, House. Tell me why sympathy is such a bad thing." She kept her hand on his.

He looked at her for a few moments longer. "It's a useless emotion. It doesn't last. People get bored with it and move on." He pulled away from her hand and continued to put his jacket on while she stood watching him silently.

He moved around the desk and past her, but as he got to the door, her voice stopped him. "I don't, House."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimers:** The usual. I own nothing having to do with House. Pity.

**A/N:** First of all, this gets a little more angsty than I'm used to writing. I'll try to lighten things up in the next chapter. Secondly, when I reread chapter six of this story, I didn't like how I left it off, so I added to it here in chapter seven. You'll probably want to go back and read at least the last bit of six. In fact, it's taken me so long to update this, that you'll probably need to reread the whole thing. Sorry about that. With that in mind, I'd like to thank the people who have continued to read this despite my horribly slow updates. Thanks also to everyone who has reviewed and been so enthusiastic. L

**OOOO**

House left the hospital with the memory of Cameron's words in his head.

"_I don't, House."_

Right, he thought. She wouldn't get bored or angry or disgusted or depressed. She would just stick around all sunshine and happiness. Sure she would.

He clipped his cane to his bike and pulled his leg over the seat. As he sat straddling the seat, he heard the click of high heels on the pavement. He reached over and started the bike anyway. He didn't want to continue this conversation.

He dropped his head down in momentary defeat when Cameron's hand reached out again like it had in his office to stop him.

"Let go or I'll run you over," he yelled over the sound of the engine.

She only rolled her eyes. "Shut the bike off."

"No."

"Grow up and shut the bike off," she yelled.

"We're in the middle of the parking lot yelling so everyone can hear. Aren't you embarrassed?" He was louder than he needed to be even with the bike running.

This time she spoke the words in a normal volume. "Shut the bike off."

Her hand stayed on his arm as he did so and she didn't take it off even after he had obeyed. He looked at her with insolent expectancy. "Well?"

"I don't get bored and walk away, House." She spoke her words carefully. Each syllable was clear and steady. Intense.

"You already said that."

"And I mean it."

He spread his arms out to indicate their setting. "Obviously." His motion had finally dislodged her hand, but only for a brief second. It came right back again and landed on his hand.

The skin to skin contact startled his memory back to the night before. He felt heat between them and stared at his rougher, darker hand covered by her small, smooth one.

"I shouldn't have done that last night." He heard himself apologizing, but didn't feel any truth in the words.

"Yes, you should have." She slid her hand off his, prolonging the contact. "See you tomorrow."

He stared at her as she walked back into the building. He couldn't figure out who had won that battle. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

**OOOO**

Two weeks later, House and his team had dealt with two different cases. One older woman had had a reaction to a treatment authorized by her "spiritual healer." House had gloated ridiculously over that one. "Spiritual healer, my ass," he had sneered at said healer. "Dreadlocks on a blond man are too damned stupid for words. Shave your head and get a job at Kinko's."

The second patient had died from a completely unrelated stroke two days after House and his team had diagnosed and begun treatment. No one sneered at that one. The man had had four little grandkids and each of them had been in the room when their grandpop had stroked out.

The mood, then, when Lila Richardson first appeared on the scene was less than jovial. As she approached Greg House's office for the first time, she noticed that none of his "ducklings," as she had heard one nurse call them, was in sight. That was probably for the best. No reason to let the whole team know that she was going to be breaking them up all at once.

House was playing his Gameboy and listening to an old blues record when she lightly tapped on the door and then pushed it open to let herself in.

"Why are you knocking if you're already walking in?" He didn't look up to see who it was. He unconsciously assumed that it must be a messenger or one of Cuddy's minions.

"I thought I'd feign politeness." She strode over to his desk, stopping about a yard away from it.

"No need to 'feign politeness' around here." He looked up at the very tall, very Amazonish woman standing in front of him and paused. His brow wrinkled as he thought for a second, then he remembered. He sighed and turned back to the aliens on the tiny screen. "What the hell do you want?"

"So good to see you, too, Greg." She grinned, pulled a chair around so that she could have a better vantage point and sat. "Still winning the Mr. Congeniality award, I see."

"Aren't there puppies dying somewhere that you need to go rescue?"

"Probably." She crossed her very long legs and reached up to push a pin back in the French knot she had in her hair. "Don't you have some sort of mystery disease to diagnose?"

"Not at the moment." He kept hitting buttons while she sat there. He was willing her to go away, but he knew her well enough that he was sure she hadn't dropped in to chat about old times and that she wouldn't be leaving. He thought he'd give her a minute or so to stew before he granted her some of his attention.

She didn't fidget or peer around the room; she stared right at him, perfectly still and obviously willing to wait him out. It figured. Lila Richardson was not known for her lack of patience. She was known, though, for being stubborn. When her staring made him want to fidget, he lost track of his alien for a second and it was pulverized by a meteor.

He pulled his legs down from his desk and turned to the dark haired woman, dressed in an institutional navy blue suit and white blouse. "What?"

She grinned at him again and pulled a blue file folder out of her leather bag. "Allison Cameron."

"Great ass," he quipped. "Are we playing a word association game?"

She ignored him. "Native of Wisconsin. Graduate of Northwestern. Third in her med school classes. Studied at the Mayo Clinic." She looked up from her file. No reaction so far from House. "Married once. Widowed. Family still residing in Wisconsin. Father Mike Cameron, father. Mother, Andrea, homemaker. Currently on fellowship at Princeton Plainsborough Teaching Hospital under the tutelage of the eminent if socially disastrous Dr. Gregory House."

"And?" He asked impatiently, enjoying this conversation less and less.

"And I'm going to hire her away from you."

House sat back in his chair. He looked hard at the woman sitting in front of him. She looked right back. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am." She flipped a couple of more pages in her file.

"She's under contract here."

"A contract that is just about to expire," she glanced down at her papers for effect. She knew exactly how long Cameron's contract had. "In two months." Lila noticed that House was still staring at her. "She's been here for four years. Pretty long for a fellowship, isn't it?"

"Not if you're specializing." House said, his tone calm.

"And, of course, not if your boss has a reputation for being a cruel son of a bitch who scares off potential new recruits."

When he didn't say anything, she sorted through the papers she had memorized. "She already left you once, Greg."

He looked confused for a moment. Left him? She had never been with him. "What the hell are you talking about? We're not…" He cut off, surprised at himself for saying that much.

Lila looked at him with a bemused expression. "I never said you were…" She cut off and waved her hand in the air. "I meant that she left your department once."

"Oh." Now he was flustered and that just wouldn't do at the moment. "You mean when she tried to martyr herself for the good of the department." His scorn was palpable, but not entirely convincing. "She came back."

"After blackmailing you."

House drummed his fingers on the desktop. He waited, staring at her again. The album that had been playing behind him ended and the arm lifted automatically and settled to the side of the platter with a faint click.

"You've been busy, Lila."

"Not really." She grinned at him. "I always forget how tiny a community like a hospital can be, even one this size. All I had to do was mention your name to anyone who'd listen, and they'd start talking. I have to tell you, Greg, you are a favorite topic of gossip around here."

"And you've been using that to dig up dirt on Cameron."

"No. Not dirt. Information."

"Why?"

"I told you. I want her to come work for me."

He laughed unpleasantly. "You want her to come work for you in that charity bin you call a medical center?"

"You know, I'm glad I already know you and that I was prepared for battle." She shifted a bit in her seat then leaned slightly forward. "St. Michael's is not a charity _bin_, and you damned well know it." She settled back in her seat again and raised her eyebrow as she continued, "I'm surprised you would donate to something you have so much scorn for, Greg."

"You should take some of that money and buy yourself some new clothes."

"Don't try to change the subject by insulting me." She slapped the folder shut. "Time to get down to business. My board of directors and I have decided to open a branch of St. Michael's on the East Coast. We would like to hire staff who are familiar with and comfortable in the environment. Life is a lot different here than it is in San Diego and we need that stability."

House tried to cut her off.

"No." She stopped him. "I've wasted too much time with you already. Dr. Cameron, I feel, would fit in very nicely. I'm going to hire her." She stood, preparing to leave. "Now, you can either tell her, or I will." She moved toward the door. "I can guarantee you that if I get to her first, I'll be able to charm her away very quickly. If you do it, she may actually finish her contract."

She couldn't resist adding one more shot before she left. "But, Greg, she will be working for me sometime in the next three months."

She left and strode past Wilson, who was heading in to see House. She nodded briskly and headed for the elevators.

Wilson watched her walk away. Not bad, he thought. He walked on in to his friend's office. House was sitting in the same position as he had been when Lila had walked out the door.

"Who was that?" Wilson jerked his thumb toward the hallway.

"Dr. Lila Richardson." House said slowly.

"Oh." Wilson was startled. "As in St. Michael's Medical Center?"

"Mmm-hmm." House was still thinking about her visit.

"What does she want?"

"Cameron."

**OOOO**

Allison didn't know what to think about her apparent stalker. No less than four people had stopped her in the hallway that day to tell her that some doctor they didn't know was going around asking questions about her. "Tall, brown hair, frumpy clothes," one informant had told her. "Determined," another had provided.

As she walked toward the office, Allison kept her eyes open for the woman who matched their descriptions. What really made her curious was the woman's identity. She had not been reticent as she had questioned people.

Why would Lila Richardson be looking for her? Cameron was worried because Richardson's hospital's outreach program had been the source of funding for Amber Davis' stay in a half-way house a couple of weeks ago. Cameron was worried that the money had been taken back or that something had happened to the teenager. If that were the case, though, she couldn't imagine why the other doctor would be asking questions about her. She thought the courtesy of a simple phone call would be all she was entitled to.

She walked into the conference room of the diagnostics department and noticed that Foreman and Chase were still in hiding. The death of that man had shocked all of them, even House. He had actually been the one to usher the man's grandkids out of the room as the other three doctors rushed around trying to revive the stroke victim. Foreman had called the time of death and Allison had headed out to the man's agitated family to deliver the bad news.

When House had realized that she had done that, he had actually taken a moment to say, "good."

She knew he had been referring to her past tendencies to avoid situation like that and her willingness to handle it this time. Of course, he hadn't been content simply to praise her. He had added, "about damned time you took up your professional responsibility."

She rolled her eyes, thinking about that one. Then she let her mind drift back to the strange appearance – or non-appearance, as it seemed to be – of Lila Richardson in her life. Why would the head of a world-famous hospital be asking questions about her? She saw that House was in his office and figured that he might know the answer. Who knew? Maybe Lila Richardson had been either naïve enough or clueless enough to think House would feed her information as well.

"Well, if it isn't the famous Dr. Allison Cameron," he said as she walked in. House's tone did not bode well for a civilized conversation. She wasn't prepare for that.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about big shot doctors coming in here and informing me that they are going to be hiring you away from our happy little dish of dysfunction." He stood and walked around to the front of his desk. He pointed at her and added, "You are under contract."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." She was honestly confused. "I heard that Lila Richardson was in the building and that she has been asking about me, but no one said anything about a job."

"You haven't talked to her?" The way he asked suggested that he had already labeled her a traitor.

"No, I haven't talked to her." House was acting weird. Hostile in a way that made her uncomfortable.

"Then how did she get your name?"

"I don't know how. I tapped her hospital's outreach program for money for Amber Davis to live at that half-way house, but I certainly never made contact with her." She tried to keep her voice low and calm. House was seriously unnerving her. He wasn't angry exactly, but he wasn't pleased either. He was tense and his eyes were boring into hers.

House didn't speak for a second. Allison got the impression that he was weighing the possibilities in his mind. When he finally spoke, she couldn't decide if his question was innocuous or not. "How high up the food chain did you have to go to get the money?"

She forced herself to relax a little. "I don't know. A little way, I guess. They weren't too excited about sending money to help a girl three thousand miles away from their base of normal operations, so I had to do a lot of arguing." She shrugged, "I talked to a couple of social workers who passed me off to some sort of assistant who passed me off to her boss. He was one of the executives in that branch of their organization."

"And I'll just bet you threw in some of that signature morality of yours and made someone feel like dirt under your feet until they gave you the money."

"I don't know about that, but I obviously managed to convince them."

"And you didn't just happen to mention that your contract here would be running out shortly and that you would be interested in a job with them." The vibes that had made her uncomfortable at the beginning of the conversation were even more apparent now.

Allison to stopped and regrouped. Something was going on here that she didn't understand. She felt the need to tread carefully. "No." She let the syllable drag out a bit. "I didn't say anything of the sort. Why would you ask that?"

"You don't need to go behind my back. I know your time here is almost done. I know you'll need to find another job."

This time, she caught the slightest note of petulance in House's voice. He was angry, but he was also hurt. Good God. How was she supposed to deal with this? "I won't go behind your back," she said slowly, "but I'm also not going have you hovering while I take care of that when the time comes."

"How did she find out so much about you in such a short time?" He wasn't backing down.

"What exactly does she know? I haven't talked to her myself and no one was really specific when they told me what she's been doing."

"She knows about your family, your education, your time here. She even knows about your husband."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Wow. She's been busy."

"That's what I told her."

Despite the fact that the conversation seemed to be going a little better, she still couldn't get past that aura of pain and maybe even some disappointment coming from House. She really didn't know what to say to him. She was sorry that the situation – whatever it was – hadn't been handle differently, but she couldn't help that.

"House," her voice took on the low tone that she had taken to using when she was trying deal with him on a personal level, "I didn't call her. I've never met…"

"She said your dad's name is Mike Cameron," he interrupted. That tone she was using with him had been his undoing more than once over the past few years. He remembered it best when she had discovered that he had been hurting himself to distract from the pain in his leg. "Stop it," she had said then. She might as well have said the same thing this time, but he couldn't stop.

She was confused. "Yes. Mike Cameron. So?"

"So I just think it's curious, that's all."

"What is?"

"Cameron's your maiden name."

She felt her spine stiffen. "Why are you changing the subject?"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No. You wanted to know what Lila had to say about you. I'm telling you. I'm also offering an observation about that information. You didn't change your name when you married tumor boy."

She breathed in deeply. The low, calm voice was disappearing. "You're changing the subject because you're uncomfortable with the emotion of the situation."

"I doubt it was because you're some sort of closet Nazi feminist. Was it because you knew he'd be dead in six months and you didn't want to go through the hassle of telling the social security office that you had a new name?"

Her stomach was clenching. She was used to his barbs about her husband, but those were usually his way of poking at her just to distract her or amuse himself with her anger. This was different. This time he was trying his damnedest to hurt her. He wanted her to be in pain. Not just to lose her temper. He wanted her to feel the sharpness of his thoughts.

"Hell, even Stacy took her husband's name."

Cameron had stopped looking at him some time ago, but now her head shot up and there was blood in her eyes. "Oh. You want to play the Stacy card, do you? Fine, let's do that."

This time it was the tone in Cameron's voice that made House stop cold. He looked at her and saw fury that he had never seen from her before. He had an urge to apologize, but being unfamiliar with the feeling he ignored it and focused on her words instead.

Cameron continued. "Stacy did take her husband's name, House. Let me point out to you, though, that she didn't take _your_ name. She dumped you and married someone else. She took his name."

His initial anger, that pain that had caused him to treat her so callously when she had walked in minutes ago, deflated. "Touché," he said quietly.

The change in his demeanor was palpable. Cameron felt her own anger fade, but only slightly. She sensed that if she didn't finish this conversation with House on her own terms, that they would be stuck like people on a merry-go-round forever.

When she spoke again, it was with much less venom but much more conviction. "You use your relationship with Stacy and it's failure as some sort of shield, House. You think the only thing it proves is that you are incapable of being successful with anyone. As far as I'm concerned, the only thing it proves is that you are capable of loving deeply and with commitment. What you are is not an unloveable person; you are scarred."

He was silent.

"Until you get it through your head that you are not fully to blame for the break up with Stacy…"

"I blame her," he interrupted.

"Not as much as you should. She made a life changing decision for you that left you crippled, then she walked away from the aftermath." Allison sighed deeply as she felt the adrenaline from her anger abate further. "I'm sure you weren't a bundle of joy to be around, but she made a selfish, hurtful choice."

She surprised both of them when her hand reached up to lay soothingly against his jaw. She rubbed her thumb against the stubble on his cheek. "And, House, I'm not going anywhere without letting you know exactly where that will be."

She let her hand smooth down to his chin and pulled it back slowly. He still hadn't spoken, and she used the silence to her advantage for one last word.

"So tell 'Lila,' as you called her, that if she wants to talk to me about a job, she'd do better by coming to me directly." She turned away from him and headed back to the conference room.

He found his voice and spoke, but what he said surprised him and amused her. "We were in med school together. Um," he stammered a little, realizing even as he formed the words that he would hate himself for this later, "I've known her for a long time." He had no idea why he felt the need to explain that to her.

Her raised eyebrow indicated that she was just as surprised, but then she gave him a slightly mischievous smile. "Well, that was a bit out of character, Dr. House, but a good save nonetheless." She walked out feeling like she had actually accomplished something -- something that had nothing to do with Lila Richardson.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Hmmm… Well, you know.

**A/N: **I'm pretty much ignoring a lot of what's been happening on the show. The joys of fanfiction: disregarding what the highly paid professionals are doing to do it myself. Thanks for sticking with this and for the comments.

**OOOO**

Cameron was catching up on her diagnostic notes when Lila Richardson found her at her desk. Cameron forced herself to seem unfazed Richardson's appearance. She didn't stand or smile, she just shook the woman's hand and waved her toward an empty chair in the conference room. "Just give me a second and I'll be with you."

If Richardson was amused by the younger doctor's behavior, she gave no indication of that. She merely sat as she had been told and waited, glancing around the room at the white board with symptoms from the last patient still visible, the newspaper scattered on the table top, boxes of cereal – one granola, the other something sugary and for kids – on the low shelf by the window, and the lab coats on the coat tree hanging next to someone's dry cleaning. She directed her gaze back at Cameron who was typing quickly, but not without frequent jumps to the backspace key at the top of the keyboard.

She was slightly surprised when Cameron spoke, her eyes still on the computer screen. "We tend to live here several days a week."

Richardson didn't take that as permission to speak. It was obvious that Cameron was telling the truth; she had heard enough about House and his team, even before she had come to Princeton. She didn't need confirmation of that fact. It was also obvious that Cameron wasn't too pleased with her at the moment. Her attempts at cold detachment weren't very effective, but Lila got the point. Cameron was not happy that she had been investigating her behind Cameron's back.

After a couple of more minutes of typing, Cameron double-clicked the mouse and then reached up to shut off the screen. "So, what can I do for you, Dr. Richardson?"

"You can come work for me," she stated without missing a beat.

"I have a job."

"So I've been told." Richardson shifted slightly and crossed her legs, settling more comfortably in the chair she had been assigned. "I also happen to know that your contract here is up very shortly."

Cameron didn't say anything at first. She tapped some papers together on her desk and fished around for a paperclip. When she had secured the papers, which were nothing more than emails she had tried unsuccessfully to get House to read, she entered back into the pseudo-conversation.

"Why do you want to hire me?" Cameron folder hands primly on the desktop, elbows out to the side. She blandly raised her brows in question.

"You're a good doctor, a good immunologist with more knowledge in diagnostics than most doctors with your experience. You're also stubborn and willing to fight for what you think is right for your patients."

"Yes, I suppose I am – on all counts. But that doesn't answer my question." Cameron didn't shift. "Why do you want to hire me?"

Richardson sat up a little straighter and raised her own brows. "You know, I'm not used to being interviewed by my potential employees."

"And I'm not used to potential employers digging around for information as if I were being considered for some secret government agency."

This time Richardson smiled. "Well, I'm glad to see my sources were right about you. 'Potential to be quite a ball-buster, but not quite comfortable in that role yet,'" she recited and then relaxed again. "Good qualities for what I will want from you eventually."

As much as she wanted to, Cameron chose not to ask where that little sound bite had come from. Probably Foreman or some other smartass. "I hate to sound repetitive, but what is it exactly that you want from me?"

"I'm opening – or actually we are opening, the board of directors and I, that is – a branch of St. Michael's Medical Center here in Princeton. I'm putting together a team of doctors, nurse, social workers, and so on, to be there from the ground level. I need top of the line people who are not only skilled in medicine, but who are also attractive to potential donors."

"Artwork."

Richardson caught a note of disdain in Cameron's voice and wondered at her choice of words. "Artwork? No…Well, I suppose that's what it might sound like. What I mean is that our organization is run pretty much on charity. I need people who are damned good doctors with impressive credentials who will make donors feel confident that they're giving their money to a good cause."

Encouraged by Cameron's thoughtful expression, she continued. "In addition to immunology, I'll need people from family medicine, neurology, oncology, geriatrics, pediatrics, and probably cardiology to start." She paused, as if running a list in her mind. "Oh. Psychology, too." She stopped, waiting for a response.

Cameron nodded, thinking. "So working for you would involve fundraising."

Richardson laughed. "Dr. Cameron, we have an entire office building – a very tall office building filled with hundreds of employees– dedicated to nothing but fundraising. Despite that, yes, we would need you to drum up support at charity events, rubber chicken lunches, and so on."

Cameron was more intrigued by this offer than she had thought she would be, but she still found herself wary of what Lila Richardson was telling her. "I have two more questions."

"Just two?" Richardson asked sardonically.

"Two for now." Cameron unclasped her hands and indicated the air around her. "Why Princeton?"

"Ah. That is a very good question." Richardson looked pleased. "No one else has thought to ask me that. My board wanted New York or Boston, but I thought they were already glutted with hospitals and the real estate is astronomical in both places. Princeton is also a college town. The Ivy League name adds a certain appeal, even though we wouldn't be associated with the university, and the town is full of educated people looking for a good cause."

"Bleeding hearts," Cameron murmured distractedly.

Richardson chuckled again. "You have been working for Greg for four years, haven't you?"

Cameron nodded slowly, staring into the space between her computer monitor and the pencil holder. Richardson was just about to snap her fingers in front of the younger doctor's face, when Cameron shook off her reverie and looked back at her. "Second question. Why have you been asking around about me instead of coming straight to me?"

Richardson nodded in concession to Cameron's question. "Fair enough, and I'll be very honest. I like to be prepared. I don't go into battle without armor. I have to admit that I haven't done quite as much recon with the other doctors I'm recruiting, but I felt I should be much more prepared for you."

"Why is that?"

"You work for Greg House." She shrugged. "I know Greg. If you've been here for four years and he hasn't scared you off or inspired you to do bodily harm to him, then he must want you here. Frankly, I didn't do research on you because I thought I would need it deal with you, I did it so that I could be prepared for him."

"How exactly does that work?" Cameron was utterly confused.

"Greg prides himself on knowing things about people that no one else knows. He likes to feel like he has an ace up his sleeve." When Cameron didn't deny that, Richardson continued. "I needed as much information as I could get about you so that he would be thrown off guard. An off-balance Greg House is much easier to deal with than one who thinks he holds all the cards."

"And you needed him to be off-balance because…?"

"I'm hiring you away from him, Dr. Cameron. He's kept you around for four years. I knew there had to be a reason."

"He doesn't want to bother with hiring someone else." Cameron stated, matter-of-factly.

"Hmm. Well, that too." She stood and smoothed out her dark blue skirt. She reached into the leather portfolio case she had brought in with her and handed a folder she extracted from it to Cameron. "Information about our organization. My card is in there. Call me when you're ready to get started."

"You seem pretty confident." Cameron stood and accepted the folder, but didn't open it.

"Oh, I am. You're ready to move on, and this job is perfect for you." She moved toward the door. "The entire group will be convening in San Diego in two months. You'll spend six months there while you learn about the organization and work with the board to begin the process of development here."

As she was leaving, Cameron remembered the manners she had been taught at some point. "It was nice meeting you," she called out.

Lila Richardson smiled. "You, too. I'll talk to you soon." And she left.

Allison plopped back down into her chair and stared at the St. Michael's logo on the top of the folder.

**OOOO**

For some reason, House wasn't surprised to find Allison Cameron sitting behind his desk later that evening when he had been sure that everyone else had gone home. After their conversation that morning, he wasn't sure she would want to be around him for a while. He should have known, though, that if she thought they needed to talk about something, she would be there no matter how pissed she might be. He was a little surprised that she held his Magic Eight Ball in her hand. She obviously hadn't seen him enter because she shook it, looked at the window and the advice it offered, then screwed her face up as if it hadn't been the answer she was looking for.

"What did you ask it?"

She started a little at the sound of his voice. "If I tell you, doesn't that make the fortune null and void?"

He sat in the chair in front of his desk and hooked his cane on the edge of it. "I think that only counts for birthday candles and falling stars."

She smiled a little. "I talked to Lila Richardson today."

"So says the grapevine." He really didn't want to hear what Richardson had said to Cameron, but at the same time he felt compelled to ask, "What does she want?"

"To hire me, just like she told you." Cameron spun the ball on the desktop and stopped it before it could fall off. "She seems to know you pretty well."

House reigned in his impatience. The last person in the world he wanted to discuss right now was Lila Richardson. He wanted to talk about Cameron and how her choices were going to affect him. Selfish, yes, but no one had ever accused him of being anything else. He tamped down the impulse to slam the cane against the desk to get her to focus. "I told you we went to med school together."

Cameron was still fidgeting with the giant eight ball. "Yeah, but she's got your number, House. Why is that?"

"Jealous?"

She responded with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips.

He sighed deeply, conveying his great disgust with the direction of the conversation. "We entered the same year. We were assigned to the same study group and the same cadaver in Gross Anatomy class. And, if that weren't enough, we were neck-and-neck in class standing. You spend that much time with the competition and you get to know someone."

"You went to study group?" She asked incredulously.

"Only to make fun of morons in the group."

"Did you sleep with her?"

He grinned. "So you are jealous of her."

"Did you?"

"No. We made bets."

"Bets?"

"Yep. Who'd get the highest grade on a test. Who'd faint or puke first. Who'd be at the top of the class at graduation."

"I suppose you won?" She still didn't appear to be paying close attention to their conversation.

"Usually. All but one of the bets."

"Which one was that?"

"The one about who'd be at the top of the class."

"She won that one?"

"Yeah. Neither one of us was the top. That was her bet."

"Interesting bet," Cameron said with a grin. "What did you lose?"

"I'm still losing," he said. "I have to donate to St. Michael's for the Indigent and Unemployed every year until I'm fifty-two." He anticipated her next question. "I don't know why it's fifty-two. That's just how she is."

"Interesting fundraising technique." And interesting that he actually stuck with it, she thought vaguely.

House didn't say anything. He watched her as her fingers manipulated the ball on his desk. It had been two weeks since Wilson's divorce party and since House had practically mauled Cameron in the alley next to the bar. He had tried to write off the experience as a lesson learned, but he found that it wasn't the kind of lesson he could forget. He had been as professional as he was capable of being in the time since then, aside from their initial confrontation about Lila Richardson. He had not made any crude comments about her appearance or snide remarks about her failed relationship with Chase, for example.

What he hadn't been able to do was stop paying attention to her. He caught himself glancing in her direction for no reason. A couple of nights before, she had left work after dark, and he had found himself standing at the window watching her go to her car. He tried to tell himself that it was her ass he was watching, but he knew that he was making sure she got to her car without incident. As uncomfortable as he was with these feelings, he was at the same time intelligent enough to know that they were something different. Something that he needed to be very wary of until he figured out what exactly to do about them.

"I think I'm going to take the job."

Her comment startled him out of his thoughts. He found that he had nothing really to say. His was suddenly fresh out of pissed-off insults and belittling sarcasm. "Did the eight ball tell you to do that?" That was the best he could come up with at that moment.

"No. I didn't ask it about the job." She opened the bottom drawer of his desk and placed the ball back in its spot. Then she picked up a folder that he hadn't noticed on the desk and brought it around to where he was seated. "Read this over and tell me what you think. It's a pretty detailed proposal outlining St. Michael's plans for the future. I would be the 'immunologist' it mentions in the list of specialists."

After he wordlessly took the folder from her, she looked in his eyes for a long moment and then smiled softly. "A full conversation without too much pissiness. Feels pretty good, doesn't it?"

He was grasping for a comment as she headed for the door.

Before he had a chance to tell her not to get used to it, she added, "The eight ball said you wouldn't care whether I took the job or not." She paused. "But, I'm betting you do."

An hour later, House was in the same chair and had finished reading the proposal Lila had given Cameron. It was a good program. Despite the hundreds of snarky comments he could make about Lila and her hospital, he would grudgingly admit that Lila knew what she was doing. Her hospital was the best at what it did, and opening another one on the East Coast would open up a lot of opportunities. Lila also seemed to have a good handle on the community and what it would take to be successful in Princeton. As Cameron's professional mentor, he knew he should be happy, maybe even proud, that she would be moving on to a position that was so obviously up her alley.

He knew, though, that the real and selfish reason he was glad that Allison Cameron had found this particular job was that she would be staying in Princeton, New Jersey.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** Of course I don't own it, you silly lawyer people.

**A/N:** This chapter went through nine drafts before I decided to go with number five. I clearly have issues. I'd also like to admit that I have completely ignored all spoilers for season four (even though I am very intrigued by them) and most of season three. This is out of sheer necessity, given that I started this at the beginning of season two. (I also have procrastination issues.) Finally, I may have taken slight liberties with Cameron and her desk, but, again, in the world of fanfiction, I guess I'm allowed.

Thanks again to those who have left comments and to everyone who's been sticking with me. There is only one chapter left – so hang in there!

**OOOO**

"You should have your license revoked!"

House stood in the doorway of the exam room watching as a large woman hobbled toward the reception desk in the clinic. Her left hand was plastered against her rear end and her face was red and furious when she turned and pointed at him. "I want him fired!" she shouted at the nurse on duty.

"Don't we all," deadpanned the nurse.

House stuck his tongue out at her and walked to the other end of the counter, out of striking distance from the woman whose boil he had just lanced. He dropped her folder there and told the other nurse, "There's battle debris in there that needs to be cleaned up."

"I don't supposed you'd like to take care of that?" she asked, clearly already knowing the answer.

"Nope."

He looked at his watch as he started down the hallway toward the elevators. It was after six. He had spent the past four hours in the clinic, even though he was only scheduled for two. At five o'clock, Cuddy had come to check on him.

"You could've left an hour ago," she said.

"Thought I'd do my duty as a doctor and help these poor, unfortunate souls." He signed off on a chart and then headed for the next exam room.

"Wilson says you're avoiding Cameron."

"Are you questioning my motives as a medical professional?" he asked indignantly.

"No, I'm questioning your intelligence." She positioned herself in front of the doorway he was heading for. "Today is her last day here."

"I'm aware of that."

"She's going to be gone for six months."

"Got that part too."

"She's not coming back to work at this hospital." Her tone held a little desperation.

He tried to move her out of the way with his cane. "I'm aware of what she's doing. I'm her boss, remember?"

"Not as of …," she looked at her own watch, "…three minutes ago."

The patient who was waiting in the room interrupted. "Is one of you going to help me?"

House looked in at the kid with the Greek letters plastered across his sweatshirt. "I am – just as soon as Dr. Cuddy here moves her interfering ass out of my way."

She raised her hands in defeat and moved away. "Fine. Be a moron. Be miserable. Why should that change?"

Her comments made the last hour of House's self-imposed duty less than pleasant. He had been humming along just fine as he dealt with the inevitable rashes, fevers, and sprained ankles until Cuddy had intruded. He hadn't been able to concentrate on Frat Boy's keg stand injuries, nor had he been at his best for boil lancing. Given that he hadn't done that particular procedure since his internship, it wasn't too surprising that it had been more painful for the woman than it might have otherwise been. His comments about her weight hadn't gone over well either, which was why he could still hear her yelling as the elevator doors shut in front of him.

He knew Cameron was leaving. He had spent the past several weeks actively ignoring that fact. He saw no purpose in making a big deal of it. People left. People moved on.

Given the fact that she had not come searching for him (which he kind of thought she might do) before she left, showed him that she didn't want to make a big deal of it either.

Which was good, he rationalized, as the elevator opened for him. Sentimentality was useless.

**OOOO**

Cameron sat at the desk in the conference room well after the time had passed when she could have left. She looked at the sticky note on the edge of the computer monitor that had the number for a pizza place written on it in her handwriting. It pretty much marked the desk as hers even though they had all worked at it at one time or another. That desk had been one of the reasons that she had been willing to play executive assistant for House. There was something in her mind about having a desk that had made her feel official, like a real professional. When she had first started working for House, that feeling had been elusive. His ways of belittling them and his supreme confidence had made her feel supremely incompetent. The desk had helped.

Handling House's appointments and correspondence and basically being in charge of the paperwork had not only given Cameron near exclusive rights to the desk, though; she had also learned an awful lot about the politics of medicine in a hospital. Cuddy and the lawyers dealt with the worst of the big ethical and legal issues; Cameron, however, handled the things that came straight to the office. The insurance companies, other specialists, techs – most of them had to go through her to get to House. Her involvement in these areas was not acknowledged very often, but she knew that Foreman and Chase didn't want to do it. House certainly didn't either. What she did was unheralded, maybe, but necessary and probably appreciated by someone.

Of course, she was also the one who made the coffee and cleaned up the bagel crumbs before ants infested the place. She discarded the old newspapers with their unfinished crossword puzzles, and she was generally the one who had the medical journals and texts returned to the hospital library when they were done with them.

Handling the bureaucratic and the mundane had kept her grounded. She had known too many doctors who lived in some sort of bubble, unaware of the nuts and bolts of their profession. They didn't acknowledge that every procedure had a cost – physical and financial – and that dozens of other people made all of it happen.

House was the worst offender in that regard. He blustered through, pushing and yelling until he got what he wanted, frequently at the expense of some patient's emotional trauma and usually with a flurry of angry insurance reps following behind, and Cameron had been the one to intercept them most of the time.

She shook her head and looked around the room that was growing darker as twilight moved in. It wasn't right to say that she had only fought on House's behalf. She had fought with him, too. At first, she had been more concerned with impressing him as a doctor, which had not been effective. Neither had her obvious pursuit of him been a good idea.

Early on, she had not seen how she could benefit from her job with House. She had only seen the prestige of the position and the bitter, injured man who was her boss. As much as she hated to admit it, Stacy's appearance had set her mind to a better focus career-wise. Learning what made House tick – or at least part of it – had been a turning point for her. She made a concerted effort to change and make the most of her position. She figured out that working for a man like House was an opportunity to try her hand at being a more forceful person. After all, who could get angry at her for mouthing off when House was in the room? His behavior had been an excuse in her mind to step outside of her normal boundaries and make mistakes. She was not always proud of what she had done, and she knew that many of those things (methamphetamines, for instance) were not mistakes she would be revisiting.

Not that she had ever gotten over her infatuation with him. It had mellowed sometimes and flared back up at other times, but she had allowed herself to explore other avenues. The problem that she faced now, on her last day as an employee of PPTH, was that her infatuation with her boss had turned into something else. It was something more important. Something that would be likely to stay with her for a very long time, even if she weren't working with him directly. And even if he never acknowledged it.

A while back, House – with relatively few snide comments – had told her that St. Michael's would probably be a good place for her. He had even surprised her with a "good luck" when she had handed him her letter of resignation. Of course, he had followed that with "now go sort out that pile of crap that Cuddy had sent up here" as he pointed toward a dozen or so patient files that were laying on her desk.

So she had. And she had worked with patients and argued with House and basically did all the things that she had been doing for the past few years.

What she hadn't done was what kept her here at six o'clock in this room behind this desk with a churning stomach and a tight feeling in her throat. In the time since she had resigned, she had not approached House again. She had not mentioned her feelings or his feelings. She had stayed as remote as she possibly could, which is to say that she allowed herself an occasional glance his way for no particular reason, and sometimes she stood a little closer than was strictly necessary. She kept tabs on his vicodin intake and noticed when his limp was more pronounced, but nothing more… daring. Basically, she had chickened out.

He, of course, hadn't said or done anything either. He had caught her looking at him a couple of times and just looked back, and he hadn't jumped out of the way when she let her arm lay against his as they stood at the reception desk at the clinic. But neither one of them had acknowledged anything out loud.

Now she was waiting. A bag full of stuff from her locker and her purse were sitting on the table in front of her along with some flowers in a vase from the nursing staff with a balloon floating above them that read "Good Luck!" Her car keys were laying there. It looked like she was ready to go.

But she wasn't. He was still there. His helmet and jacket were still in his office and the light was on at his desk. And she was waiting.

**OOOO**

From the elevator, House limped into his office and immediately began to root through his desk looking for pills to replace the empty bottle in his pocket. He found them in his backpack, popped one, and reached under his desk for his helmet and jacket. When he lifted back up, he turned and glanced over towards the conference room. He was freaked out for a second when he saw a floating circle in the shadows that looked like something from a sci-fi movie, but when he looked closer, he saw it was a balloon hovering over the table. He put his stuff down and headed toward the door.

The room was pretty gray but there was enough light that he could make out a duffle bag on the table next to the vase that the balloon was attached to. He pushed open the door and moved in, not noticing Cameron sitting behind her desk until she spoke.

"Hi." Her voice squeaked a little on the syllable.

House started, then sighed as he turned his head toward her. She was sitting primly behind the desk that she had all but planted a flag on from the first week or so that she had been there. "Do you enjoy looming in the dark, waiting to give old men heart attacks when they come through?"

"You're not old."

He let that statement hang in the air. He stared at her, wondering if he had been ambushed. He should have known she wouldn't just leave. Part of him wanted to walk out, but the other part – the part that was relieved to find her still here – moved him on into the room. He shoved her stuff farther down the table and leaned against the edge of it, facing her. He stared at her for a second longer, before he responded to her.

"I'm too old for you."

"Right." She drew the word out. "And you use a cane. But, hey, you're not my boss anymore, so that one's taken care of."

He didn't say anything.

She sat back in the chair and sighed. "Sorry about that. That was a little too off-hand for this conversation. Not the way I wanted this to go."

He wanted to ask her which way she _did_ want this to go, but he couldn't bring himself to do that, so he took the safe route and changed the subject. "Why are you still here?"

"I was waiting for you," she quietly and with a certain determination that added meaning to the sentence.

Okay, so maybe not so safe. "Don't you need to pack?" he asked.

"Done. Got my plane ticket, sublet my apartment, and I put some stuff in storage."

He nodded slowly. "So, why are you still here?"

"I want to talk to you."

"What about?"

She laughed softly. "You can't make this easy, can you?"

"You know better than that. I don't make things easy, which is why this conversation shouldn't even be happening."

She folded her hands on the desk top. "I think it should. In fact, I'm not leaving here until it does."

"I could leave."

"You could." She kept her eyes on his. "But you won't."

When he didn't deny it, she continued. "I just didn't want to leave without talking to you, and," she hesitated a second, "I don't want it to be an argument."

"Ah." Allison Cameron – gorgeous, intelligent, decent, kind, and completely inappropriate Allison Cameron – had indeed waylaid him. "So this isn't exactly an exit interview is it?"

"No." Her posture straightened more as if she were bracing herself. "No, I decided that it's time that we deal with …" Her hand waved back and forth between them. "… this."

"There is no this." He imitated her gesture.

"Of course there is." There was no hurt in her voice, which would not have been the case four years ago. There was only a matter-of-fact tone that didn't allow for any dispute.

"Let me rephrase that," he stated. "There shouldn't _be_ any this. I am too old and mean for you. You are too interested in fixing the walking wounded."

She made an impatient sound. "Let's deal with that last part. I care about you and I care what happens to you. Why is that such a bad thing?"

"You care because I have a cane." He waved the object in question in the air. "If it weren't for the cane, you wouldn't give a damn."

"You're sure about that?"

He glared at her. "I think we've covered this."

"Because there are an awful lot of men walking around with canes, House, and I have no desire to have this conversation with any of them."

"I'm easy access."

"Not any more. In fact, as of about two hours ago, my access was cut off, yet here I am."

"This is ridiculous," he said derisively.

"Why?" she asked. "Why is it so ridiculous to think that I would want to be with you?"

Her words hung between them. She had actually said it. Yelled it, really, but it was out there. She dropped her head and noticed that at some point she had jumped up and that her hands were braced on the desk in front of her. So much for calm.

She stayed still for a second, composing herself. Then, "You know, House, I'm not exactly undamaged goods myself. You could just as easily ask yourself whether I'm worth it."

"Maybe I already have."

She slowly straightened and nodded. "Fair enough." Trying not to feel deflated, she asked, "Have you come up with an answer?"

"What do you think?"

"It doesn't matter what I think right now. I've made myself pretty clear. It's your turn, House." She twisted her hands together to keep them from shaking. Nearly four years ago she had handed the reigns to him and he had ground her into the carpet at the restaurant; she had no idea what his reaction would be now.

"I think you need to go."

She nodded again, staring at him in the semi-darkness of the conference room. She moved from around the desk toward the table where her things were waiting.

House watched her as she pulled her purse over her shoulder and shoved her keys in her pocket. Even in this light, she looked devastated. And he felt like someone was stabbing him in the gut. When he saw her hand go toward the handles of the duffle bag, he reached out and stopped her. They stood there for a long moment, both of them staring at his hand on her arm. Then he pulled her over in front of him and placed his hands on her shoulders. Up close, he could see tears in her eyes and he sighed.

"I'm a mean and selfish bastard, Allison." His tone was tired. "I run people off. I hurt them. I'll do the same thing to you."

She was able to see his eyes clearly for the first time since he had come in. She was surprised by the gentleness she saw there. And the sadness. She knew that she should keep her response light; sensed that things might not be completely lost. She swiped at the tear on her cheek and took a breath. "Maybe not. My innate goodness might send you over the edge first."

He closed his eyes briefly and then tried one more time. "I was in high school when you were born."

"I don't care." She said with a hint of a smile. "If it doesn't bother me, why should it bother you?"

"That is an incredibly stupid argument."

As she started to protest, he pulled her to him, his face coming closer to hers. Her words died when he kissed her lightly. He raised his lips from hers and asked, "What were you going to say?" She shook her head as she reached up to wrap her hands around the back of his head and brought him back to her.

**OOOO**

They managed to make it to House's apartment before doing anything unbecoming two doctors in a room that had windows for walls. After the couch, but before the bed, they fought about the age thing again. After the bed, House brought up the saving him thing again. More fighting ensued, ending when Cameron slammed out of the apartment.

The next morning, an emotionally and physically exhausted Allison was not terribly surprised to find House standing at her door, looking like hell but ready to drive her to the airport. She almost protested when he picked up her suitcase in his cane-less hand, but thought better of it. She hoisted her carry-on to her shoulder and answered the question on his face. "I had everything else shipped."

They moved to the car in silence and made it to the freeway before he spoke again.

"I like you, Allison Cameron."

She raised an eyebrow. "You like me." Her voice was incredulous.

"Let me finish, will you? I like you because I can figure you out. I can read you. No major surprises."

"Wow. I'm flattered."

He scowled at her. "I am trying to compliment you."

"Sorry. Go on."

"Surprises aren't all they're cracked up to be. It's nice," he scowled at the word, "to not have to worry about what's coming next." He took a breath, trying to say the right thing for once in his life. "You also know me. You know what to expect from me, and you seem to be okay with that."

"That's not a lot to build on."

"It's a hell of a lot for me." He gripped the steering wheel tighter and made a grimace. "God, I hate this."

And his words didn't upset her because she knew he didn't mean _her_, he meant talking about emotional things. Exposing himself to her. To anyone. He was right, she did know him and she was okay with it.

It wasn't until they were at the drop-off for check-in that she spoke herself. She looked over at him, scruffy, baggy-eyed, un-ironed, staring straight ahead, and said, "I know that any relationship with you is going to be…challenging." She saw a tiny grin at the corner of his mouth. "But I'm willing to deal with that if you are."

She reached up to his chin and turned his face toward her. "I like you, too, Greg House." She smiled and then was interrupted by a security person who knocked on the window and told them that they had to move out of the drop-off zone. She nodded at the man and then turned back to House. "We've got six months to figure it out. I'll be back in Princeton for good, I imagine, and we can take it from there." She looked seriously into his eyes. "If you want to."

"Right. Six months." He nodded and bent to kiss her, lingering for a moment, until the security guard knocked on the window again. "Oh, for God's sake. Fine." He snarled at the man but thought better of making a loud crack about terrorists. "Go," he said to Cameron. "I'll see you in six months."

He watched her disappear into the airport and then headed out. When he was stuck behind a minivan, he replayed the night before and the drive to the airport. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror, rubbed his hand over his very unshaven jaw, yawned, and said, "Six months. Right." Three at the most, he thought.


End file.
